


Obscurantism

by wilyasha



Series: Firewall [17]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, F/M, Family Dynamics, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hallucinations, M/M, Sexual Content, Team as Family, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-03-11 08:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 138,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13520472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilyasha/pseuds/wilyasha
Summary: It takes time to adjust, to figure out one’s place in the universe after struggling for so long. Keith, formally beginning his Blade of Marmora training, wishes to take a more active role in destroying Zarkon’s regime. But with new enemies on the horizon and conspiracies planting roots that travel across the cosmos, Keith must make a choice in preserving the delicate threads of his family or accepting help from adversaries with mysterious goals.





	1. Illuminate

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place roughly seven months after the events of _Ad Astra_.

Keith’s hands shake as he presses his forefinger to one of the computer consoles against the far wall. How many times has he done this in the past week? Keith tucks himself against the alcove adjacent to the console. 

“What’s taking so long?” Kolivan’s voice whispers harshly in his ear. 

Keith waits for the Galra sentry to pass before taking his spot next to the console again. “Guards are tight on this level,” Keith whispers back. 

“Give it a rest, Kolivan,” Thace grouses. “You’re putting everyone on edge.”

Keith hears Regris chuckle into his ear piece, but he says nothing.

He shoves the encrypted chip back into the console. The download continues were it had last paused. 

“The information is coming through,” Kolivan says. 

Keith rolls his eyes beneath his mask and a trickle of sweat slides down over his cheekbone. His fingers tap wildly at the touchscreen, the soft clacking echoing down the corridor. Keith narrows his eyes, scrolling through one of the screens. 

“I think I got something,” he murmurs.

“What?” The three other Blades ask.

“It looks like Lotor had something delivered here,” Keith says. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Yes,” Kolivan says. “Regris hack into the depot logs.”

“On it,” Regris rasps out. 

“It also looks like he retrieved something,” Keith scrolls through the data.

“Don’t pay too much attention to the information,” Kolivan orders. “Just retrieve. I’ll have Dorma’s team sort through it.”

Keith nods to himself, clicking open another folder. His eyes grow wide, his mouth ajar. “Holy crow…”

“What? What is it?” Thace’s voice crackles through the comm link. 

“It looks like some of the intel are the notes Mom made while on the Deadzone and the data Lotor had on that new quintessence,” Keith answers. Did Lotor manage to take Larka’s notes before bailing on them all those months ago. Keith swallows around the tension in his throat. Lotor’s plans weren’t deterred by that insurgence of Zarkon’s men at the Deadzone. Whatever he had needed from Larka, Lotor had obtained it.

“He was here,” Regris says, airily. “One of Lotor’s cruisers docked here a fort-quint ago. Stayed here for a total of thirty-two vargas before leaving with a package. What he dropped off is in the central warehouse on the eighth floor.”

“Heading over there now,” Thace says.

“I will meet you,” Kolivan answers. 

The console pings that all the data has been downloaded just as Keith begins to hear the clang of metal sentries coming down one of the other hallways. Keith grabs the encrypted chip and runs. 

“I got the intel,” he says, “and heading to the warehouse now.”

“Good,” Kolivan mutters. “Regris?”

The comm link is silent. Keith stops in his tracks. Was he hiding from soldiers or… did something more ominous happen?

“Regris?” Kolivan prods once more.

The screech of sirens has Keith nearly jumping out of his own skin. Dark red lights flicker against the purple and gray backdrop of the Galra base.

“Kythel, head back to the shuttle.” Kolivan’s words leave no room for argument. “Take the intel and head back to the shuttle.”

Keith wants to argue. They could need him, but Kolivan’s words from phoebs ago echo in his ears.

_“I want to train you. I want to personally train you, but I can’t do that if you won’t listen to my instructions.”_

Keith grits his teeth. The clanging of sentries is getting closer. They’ll be upon him in no time. He pats his utility belt, just to make sure the encrypted chip is safely tucked away. Keith then turns down a side corridor, towards Regris’ last known location near the main vestibule to the hub. Yes, he’ll head back to the shuttle just after he finds Regris. 

A sentry rounds the nearest corner and Keith unsheathes his mom’s blade, activating the properties only to ram the weapon into the chest of the robot. The metal parts like warm water around the softly glowing dagger, electricity crackling near the hilt. The sentry jerks as Keith pulls the blade from its chest and swivels around to behead the next one. His eyes widen when the sharp edge doesn’t impale itself on metal, but this time lodges in malleable flesh, gristle, and bone. The first squirt of blood slaps across his mask, the soldier gurgling as Keith’s blade wedges itself half way through his neck. Keith presses his foot against the soldier’s chest and kicks his way free. Dark purplish red blood sluices over the blade, pattering to the gray floor. 

A shot of plasma hits the wall, violet and scorching, just above his head. Keith whips around to see another sentry, rifle held high. The young Blade throws himself around the corner, somersaulting across the hall, only to get up and start running. He makes it to the hub in less than five doboshes without being held up by the frantic soldiers, desperately attempting to find out how they were infiltrated. 

He finds Regris near the alcove of the kiosk he was hacking into. Sprawled across the floor with a plasma shot to the outer thigh, blood oozes from the wound and collects in the burnt part of his Marmora uniform and armor. His mask has deactivated, his hood dropped to reveal his reptilian features and the dusting of light blue fur atop his head. A jagged cut is nearly swallowed by the swollen contusion. Tacky blood has smeared across his forehead, only to slick against the downy fur. 

Whoever found Regris assumed he was dead and went to find backup.

“But he’s not,” Keith murmurs, checking for a pulse and finding the steady thump, albeit much slower than usual. Keith grabs Regris’ equipment hanging from the console and shoves it in his utility belt, before hoisting Regris across his shoulders. Regris’ tail hangs limp, hitting Keith’s thigh as he jogs. His chest burns with exertion, but he’d be damned if he was going to leave a comrade behind. Keith swallows the pain burning across his shoulders and continues on. 

A beatific smile crosses his face when he sees the rendezvous point and the open doorway to the shuttle a little beyond that. 

It’s empty when he breeches the door and Keith sets Regris down on one of the seats. Blood glazes his right shoulder, but he ignores it, instead heading over to the emergency medical kit. 

“Dad?” Keith speaks into the comm link. “Kolivan? Where are you guys?”

Keith busies himself with opening the antibacterial gel and smearing it on Regris’ wound before encasing it in a sheet of gauze.

“We’re almost there,” Thace chuffs. “Prepare the ship.”

Keith nods, making sure Regris is strapped in before setting the disengagement sequence to start in two doboshes. Returning to his friend, he tries to stanch the bleeding on his head. He grimaces. Regris will need stitches, or maybe some time in a sleep pod, but he’ll be okay. 

“What happened to him?” Kolivan asks as he enters the shuttle. Thace breezes past him, briefly looking Keith and Regris over before taking his seat at the pilot's chair and preparing them for take off. “Thace, make sure to blow a hole in this hull after you disengage us. I want them confused and worrying about the flooding instead of tracking us.”

Thace nods, tapping away on the consoles and gripping the toggles.

“I was heading back to the shuttle,” Keith finally answers, smearing some gel on Regris’ forehead too. “I was heading back and I found Regris at his location like—”

“I thought I told you to return to the shuttle,” Kolivan says. “It sounds like you took a detour.”

“We hadn’t heard from him and I wanted to see if he was alright,” Keith murmurs. “It’s not like we were late. I got him and got back to the ship before you and Dad did.”

“That’s not the point, Kythel. I gave you—”

“Everyone sit down and strap in,” Thace murmurs, strained and aggravated. “I can’t take this thing off with you all standing around.”

Keith jolts into his seat as Thace propels their shuttle off the underwater base before shooting a hole at the bottom of the hull. Keith watches through the glass as black, brackish water gushes through the gap, sucked into the underground level of the base. The mission was a success, even with Regris being battered and bruised, but they got what they came for. Right? So, why is there a churning, unsettling sensation in the pit of his belly?

\--

After debriefing at the Record, Keith and Thace made the journey back to Gal while Kolivan sees to Regris' recuperation. The logistics of using both the Marmora HQ and the colony of Gal was difficult at first, traveling back and forth could put unnecessary lives on the line, forcing their already small force to spread itself thin once again. That did not stop his mother from setting up shop back on Gal. 

“We’re back,” Keith says when the doors to laboratory slide open. 

It’s a sprawling and pristine laboratory, refurbished and repainted, more Altean than Galran. It’s almost as if his mother is trying to distance herself from what she had witnessed on the dreadnought and the Deadzone, but still searching for something wholly familiar. 

Thace smooths a hand on the work bench currently occupied by Larka’s stack of usual datapads and blueprints. His other hand presses to her shoulder as he reaches over to kiss her temple. 

Larka shrugs his hand away, refocusing on the text in front of her. “Be careful, don’t break anything,” she says, gesturing to the handful of vials in the corner held in some transparent gurgling machine. They’re not in any danger of his father’s estranged hand. Keith doesn’t miss the slight pained expression on Thace’s face.

“We just got back,” Keith says again, attempting to diffuse the tension between his parents. He’s not entirely sure what’s happened between them; one moment his mother can’t stand to be away from his father, the next she avoids him like a plague. “Regris was wounded, but he'll be fine," he pauses, waiting for a reaction. When he doesn't get one, he continues, "Kolivan stayed at headquarters to go over some of the new intel.”

“Dorma will send you some documents,” Thace says, unprompted, “once the preparations are made.”

Finally, Larka pulls away from her monitor long enough to glance at Thace before fixing her gaze on Keith. 

“What kind of documents?”

“Lotor managed to take some of your research before—”

“My research was incomplete,” Larka interrupts Thace.

“I know that, my love,” Thace starts, earnestly, “but he may or may not be creating a supply line. He's using less frequently visited depots as—”

“I purposefully left gaps,” Larka sneers. “There’s no way that—”

“I understand that,” Thace grits his teeth, “but you’re not listening—”

“You think he figured out the synthetic formula that I’ve been—”

“Ancients, Larka, that isn’t what I’m saying.”

“Then what—”

“Okay, okay, please,” Keith groans, rubbing his temples and turning around, “don’t do this right now. Or just… don’t do this with me in the room.”

“Kythel…” Larka says, hesitantly.

“I promised to call Shiro,” Keith says. “I’ll see you guys back at home.”

He doesn’t wait to hear his parents call after him and he’s grateful when he’s outside the science building. Beneath warm sunshine and insects chirping in the distance, Keith takes a deep breath, leaning against the metal wall of the building. He’s almost tempted to take a shuttle and escape to the Castleship just to get away from this cloud of tension that surrounds his mother. He doesn’t blame her, only wishes she was a bit more focused on the bigger picture and not so hyper-focused on what she cannot see. 

The communication building stands beside the sprawling air base, a large structure of its own, covered in satellites and foreign solar panels, and decorated in antennae. Inside, the transmitters and terminals take up so much space that it’s a struggle to find a vacant, private room. 

After finding one, Keith taps in the Castleship’s transponder code, a strange thrum echoing in his head as he anxiously waits. It’s the correct time, right? Was Voltron out in the field? Keith lets out an elated breath when Shiro finally answers the call, a small smile lifting his lips. The scar across the bridge of Shiro’s nose wrinkles as he gives Keith a toothy grin.

“Hey, _Prince Kythel_ ,” Shiro teases.

“Stop,” Keith groans. “Not you, too.”

Shiro chuckles, “A lot of these planet we’re liberating, they keep talking about _Prince Kythel_ who once piloted two Lions but gave it all up to infiltrate the treacherous Galra Empire—”

“You really need to let Lance write the sensational propaganda pieces,” Keith laughs. “That’s awful.”

Shiro lets out a bark of laughter. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, lightly. “But how do people know about this?”

“Well, ever since you left Team Voltron, people are always wondering where Keith is. It’s a small universe and rumors spread fast,” Shiro explains. “It’s not so bizarre to say that you’re part of a resistance Galra faction, fighting against the Emperor.”

“So, it’s official?” Keith asks, more to himself than his boyfriend. He looks down at his hands “I’m not a paladin anymore…”

“Hey, Keith,” he says. “Look at me.”

Keith clenches his jaw before looking back up.

“Team Voltron is proud of you,” Shiro says, sternly. “Lance, Allura, Hunk, Pidge, and I – we all – support your decision to train with Kolivan and Thace. You’re the representative of the Blade of Marmora within the coalition. You still help liberate and protect worlds from the Empire. Just because you’re not sitting in a Lion doesn’t mean you aren’t a paladin. You’re a warrior and a pilot. Don’t forget that just because I’m not there to remind you.”

“Thanks, Shiro,” Keith smiles. He wants to reach through the holo-monitor and hold him tight. Keith clears his throat, forcing away his looming tears. “H-how is everyone?”

“They’re good,” Shiro nods. “You know, Lance and Allura made it official.”

“W-what? Are you serious? That’s amazing!” Keith says, excitedly, almost fidgeting in his seat.

“Yeah, yeah, Hunk’s been teasing them all week because it was Allura who plucked up the courage to ask him.”

“Lance is pretty bashful when he wants to be,” Keith shrugs.

“How about you? How is everyone on Gal and at HQ?” Shiro asks.

Keith shrugs again. “Good, I guess? Mom and Dad are fighting. It’s kind of awkward.” Keith wants to elaborate, to share how strange it is to see this growing distance between his parents. “I know Mom is trying to puzzle together what the Earth experiment really was. Why did they target your Dad and all of that.”

Shiro lets out a deep breath. “I know. It really is a puzzle.”

Suddenly, the overflowing dam breaks. Keith gushes to Shiro, tells him about the mission that he just got back from. The intel he gathered at the Galra base, half submerged in that black ocean. He tells him about Lotor and the supply line and the information Lotor took from his older sister. When Keith is done, he leans back in his seat, worn out and wrung dry.

“Lotor is planning something, Takashi,” he says, voice raspy. He needs a drink of water, and maybe some food. “I don’t know how he’s working with those druids, but he obviously needs their help to accomplish his goals. But… I wonder if Lotor even knows about the Earth experiment. And if he doesn’t—”

“Is he being used by the druids, too?” Shiro finishes. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. What if Lotor isn’t our enemy in all of this?”

“More questions and less answers,” Keith mutters.

Shiro scoffs. “You got that right.” He turns his head at the sound of knocking on the off-screen door. “Just another tick. I’ll be right there,” Shiro calls through the door.

“Who is that?” Keith asks. 

“Pidge,” Shiro answers. “We’re supposed to head to Reiphod soon, but Allura isn’t back yet.”

“Where is she?”

“On Gal,” Shiro says. “She needed to talk to your mom in person.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t aware of that. Was his mom aware or did she lock herself in the labs all day? Keith shakes his head. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Keith chuffs in aggravation. “Just Larka being Larka.”

Shiro smiles. “Yeah, well the next time we get into an argument, I’ll make sure to use that excuse. _Just Keith being Keith._ Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Keith rolls his eyes. 

“Oh! Before we sign off,” Shiro starts, “I wanted to tell you that the rebels have taken over Sigma quadrants one through four and they're putting up more outposts. Nothing too extensive, just encampments until we can get more resources from Olkarion. Hunk and Coran will be sending the new intel and the maps soon.”

“I’ll pick them up from headquarters and distribute the information at the next coalition summit,” Keith says. 

“Thanks, _Prince Kythel_ ,” Shiro teases. 

“I’m begging you, Takashi, please.” Keith’s complaining turns into a fit of laughter. 

“It’s good to see you smile, Keith,” the black paladin says with a smile of his own.

“I love you,” Keith says, cheeks flushing.

“I love you, too.”

After they sign off and the monitor goes black, Keith sighs and drums his fingers on the table. Time to see Allura before she manages to slip through his fingers.


	2. Drowning

Keith prays that his parents are no longer fighting in the laboratory when he arrives. He even takes a long enough route, hoping that whatever fickle argument they’re having is over. Going as far as to hope that he has given them a good stretch of time to sort whatever they had to do with Allura. Avoiding a familial confrontation has become a pastime in recent phoebs.

He hasn’t seen Allura, in the flesh, for some time now. Kolivan has him on- and off-world so many times this fort-quint, it seems like Keith only goes on missions and completely lacks a social life. Even though it’s not so unusual, Keith rolls his shoulders back in mild aggravation as if to shrug off the loneliness hovering over him like a thundercloud. He likes the workload he’s been given. It doesn’t bother him that he doesn’t get to see Team Voltron as much as he would like. It’s only a thorny wound in his side, something he cannot deny. A sting that won’t go away, only leaves him dry and peeling. But he’s doing good work here, getting his hands dirty, infiltrating and sabotaging, trying to scrape together any threads leading to Lotor and his ambitions. 

Even with his tenacious focus and unwillingness to back down, Keith still misses Allura and Shiro and Lance and Hunk and Pidge and Coran. There were his family for so long.

 _They still are my family,_ he thinks, stubbornly. _Staying with Mom and Dad won’t change that the members of Team Voltron are my anchor._ They supported the choice he made during this crossroads of his life, helping to keep him grounded so far from Earth. 

Lost in his thoughts, Keith wanders into the science building and down the stuffy halls until he reaches his mother’s laboratory. He hears Allura before he sees her.

“—need fresh air. It’s too hot in here.” 

It takes him five ticks to assess the situation. His parents must have made up after their spat because Thace is hovering over Larka, looking over her latest notations on one of the monitors. Though no matter how close they are, Keith notices the tension emanating from Larka. But Allura only plows forward, just as persistent as before. 

“It will be fun,” Allura nearly begs, pleading and groaning all the way. “It will be like old times, right? You won’t even have to give some superfluous speech. Coran has agreed to handle that. He is a good at corralling camaraderie. Please, Larka, please… please!”

His mother covers her ears to block out the sound of her cousin’s endless begging, while Thace struggles to hide a small smile.

“Allura!” Keith calls out. “Shiro told me you were here!”

Allura’s attention swivels over to him, a bright smile smoothing over her face. 

“Keith!” She squeals. 

After they take the few steps to meet and embrace, Keith pulls her in close. 

“And congrats on making the dating official with Lance,” he smiles. 

“Shiro told you? Thank you so much, Keith!” She says, her cheeks flushed and heated. She looks delighted and Keith is happy for the relationship blossoming between his friends. 

“Dating? What is—?” He hears Thace ask in the background. 

“Courtship,” Larka answers, shaking her head. “It is what humans call courtship.”

Keith pulls away from Allura. “Shiro also told me about the Sigma quadrants and the encampments.”

“Did he tell you about Reiphod?” Allura asks, promptly.

Keith nods. 

“Good, then convince your mother to come with me,” Allura cuts her gaze to Larka, who vainly attempts to busy herself with an illuminated datapad. 

“I think it will do you some good,” Thace adds. “You’ll come back with fresh eyes. You’ll be able to look at the new research we’ve gathered.”

“What new research?” Allura asks. 

“Lotor had something delivered to the base we had infiltrated,” Keith explains. “He dropped something off… but he also picked something up. Before he left the Deadzone, Lotor had managed to take what research he had gathered from Mom, including his own work on his new quintessence.”

“Were you able to retrieve whatever he left?” Allura asks, raising a delicate, white eyebrow.

Keith shakes his head. 

“Before we could enter the warehouse, the Galra had realized we had infiltrated,” Thace mutters. “We couldn’t grab it. We only had the intel.”

“It’s strange that Lotor keeps showing up and disappearing,” Allura comments.

“We haven’t seen him in phoebs and now suddenly he comes out of hiding,” Keith adds.

“We don’t even know if he was the one at the base,” Thace says. “When Regris checked the logs, it only appeared that one of Lotor’s cruisers had docked. He didn't show up on any of the security footage.”

“He may have sent one of his generals, sentries, or a loyalist,” Allura sighs. “I take it that you’ll be focusing on Lotor’s movements?” 

Keith nods. 

Allura shifts her gaze to Larka, who has conveniently gone silent, shuffling around datapads as the attention draws on her. 

“Larka?” Allura prompts. “All I’m asking you is to stand by Coran’s side as he gives his speeches—”

“And you perform for the masses?” Larka states, reproachfully. It’s such thinly veiled criticism, but Keith knows that his mother isn’t the only Blade that believes the theatrics are foolish. He hears the whispers and complaints in the communal bath hall. “Voltron isn’t some entertainment spectacle.”

“It promotes camaraderie,” Allura insists.

“It attracts too much attention,” Larka counters.

“We did these sorts of events before,” Allura continues. “In the days of the first paladins, there were festivals and speeches. Voltron brought together all those foreign worlds. That coalition would have never come to fruition. The Legendary Defender had unified them.”

“I sympathize,” Larka grits her teeth. “I _sympathized_ with that sentiment. Believe me, I did. Voltron should be liberating these foreign worlds, but speeches didn’t save us last time. They didn’t stop the corruption.”

“Larka, please,” Thace mutters, nervously scrubbing at one of his ears.

“No,” Keith’s mother continues. “If this is what you want to do, I’ll support it, Allura. I’ll support anything you wish to do. But please, I’m begging you, don’t ask me to do these events.”

Allura balls her hands into tight fists. 

“If you’re worried about Galra faces in a crowd of revolutionists, you’re being silly,” Allura says, tersely. “The Blade of Marmora is just as much a part of the coalition than any other rebel group. Just think about it, please, Larka?” 

“I agree with Mom,” Keith interrupts, before Larka can counter Allura’s claim. 

“What?” Allura turns to him with wide, blue eyes. “What do you mean _you agree_? She can’t just stay locked in a laboratory for quintants and quintants. Every other science unit in the coalition… they take field missions, they go outside.”

Startling all four of them, the door to the laboratory opens, revealing Kolivan already geared up and ready to go. 

“I apologize for interrupting,” he says, “but I need Thace and Kythel for a mission.”

“Another? So soon?” Larka asks, eyes narrowing.

“We’re heading back to that base,” Kolivan explains. “I want to find out what is in that central warehouse.”

\--

They breach the familiar planet’s atmosphere in less than a varga. The black oceans swallow up the few white sandy beaches serving as continents and landmasses. Behind them, as their small cruiser plunges down into the relentless waves, the sky is the same deep maroon color as Emperor Zarkon’s armor. A frightening reminder for why Keith fights. A crackle of purple lightning streaks across the sky. Traveling deeper and deeper, closer and closer to the half-submerged Galra base, Keith spots the scorched spot where Thace had blown a hole in the hull. A plate of gray metal has been welded to keep the brackish water out, but the damage is undeniable. 

His father docks the stealth vessel at an underwater hatch, just as he had done vargas ago.

“Thace,” Kolivan calls out as the sliding lock pinwheels open, allowing them to slip through the exposed doorway. “Whatever happened between you and Larka back there, leave it. I want you focused.”

It’s a deepening bruise, too tender and too soon for Kolivan to be prodding, but that doesn’t stop him from saying what’s on his mind.

Thace doesn’t respond. 

“The same goes for you, Kythel,” Kolivan adds. 

Keith grits his teeth, biting back the scathing chuff threatening to gurgle up his throat. 

“Alright,” Kolivan says, brushing past him to survey the unfamiliar corridor. It’s a three-pronged hallway: one path leading left, another right, while the largest leads straight ahead. “Thace, you take the west wing, and Kythel, you take the east wing. We’ll meet inside the central warehouse. Eighth floor. Sync your mask monitors with the schematics that Regris downloaded to your wrist devices. We will rendezvous in ten doboshes.” And then Kolivan is disappearing down the main corridor. 

“Be careful, son. We need to avoid being seen,” Thace says, clasping a hand on Keith's shoulder and squeezing tightly.

“You too, Dad,” Keith answers, before heading down the right corridor. He tabs open his wrist device, the hologram projecting Regris’ maps in midair. Keith scoffs. Kolivan gave him the shortest and less guarded route. He need only get past one of the security booths that watches over the less used larger docks. It’s only guarded by one soldier. There are also two sentries on patrol outside the warehouse that are due for a shift change in eight doboshes. 

“Figures,” Keith scoffs again. “Preferential treatment.”

It will take him some time to get to the eighth floor of the warehouse, but at least reaching it won’t be much of a problem. Keith tabs down the hologram as he nears the booth. It overlooks an empty watchtower and its balcony, and a vacant semi-submersible dock. 

Keith furrows his eyebrows together. Usually the dock would be holding a submersible freighter – one used for both water planets and deep space environments – but the chamber is empty. Stealthily, Keith slowly crouches, tucks his legs and somersaults over to the guard’s booth. Checking behind him one last time, Keith peers around the edge of the doorway and his eyebrows lift in question. The booth is empty, save for the blinking console and various monitors. Slowly rising to his feet, the young Blade looks around before double checking the corridor again. 

“It doesn’t even look like anyone has been in here for a while,” he murmurs. The station is too clean and tidy. Striding over to the console, Keith opens the main screen, presses his hand against the identification pad, and waits to be given access into the system. Scrolling through the various cameras, Keith quickly finds the locations of Thace and Kolivan. His father is closer to the warehouse than Kolivan, but they’re both safe. 

Then why is there a crawling sensation tickling his spine? Why does he feel—

“Kolivan?” Keith asks into the communication link.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” is Kolivan’s immediate response. On the monitor, he sees the slight pause in Kolivan’s step, the cautionary gait of a spy. 

Keith shakes his head and turns to leave the booth. 

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs. “Just checking in.”

He hears Kolivan chuff in mild annoyance, before continuing down the hallway. Keith checks the time on his wrist device. Two doboshes until the shift change. 

“Kythel?” Kolivan’s voice trickles into his ear. “What route did I give you?”

“The east wing,” Keith answers without hesitation. “I passed the dock, but there was no freighter. No guard either.”

Kolivan grunts, but says nothing more, leaving Keith to press on. 

“I’ve reached the third level,” Thace radios in. “I’m en route to the eighth.”

“On my way,” Keith says, reaching a small alcove. Tucking himself into the shadows, he waits for the shift change before he can take the side door into the warehouse. Keith waits, checking the time periodically, anxiety circulating through his chest. 

Twenty ticks before shift change and he doesn’t hear the clang of sentries. Keith bites his lower lip, his limbs coiling like springs. He’s eager to fight if need be, but their delay is making him nervous. Galra sentries are prompt and usually take their posts only a few doboshes before they actually start.

 _They’re programmed to be diligent,_ he thinks. _So what the hell is taking them so long?_

Keith looks back at the time on his wrist device.

“Five… four… three… two…” Keith looks up, searching for the old sentries to leave and the new ones to arrive. Something stalls inside his chest. He carefully shifts in his alcove, peers around the corner to check down both lengths of the hallway. Just dim sub-lights and darkened depths. Taking a deep breath, Keith scrambles over to the non-sliding side door and slams his shoulder into it. The creaky door, rusting around the edges, gives and opens with a heavy thud. Entering the warehouse on the second floor, Keith quickly shoves the door shut and climbs the stairs two at a time. 

He’s breathing heavily by the time he reaches the door to the eighth floor. Shoving this one open with his shoulder, too, Keith pants. Scaffolding wraps around the walls, and rows and rows of shelving takes up most of the space of the eighth floor, but it doesn’t take long to find Kolivan and Thace standing near a large obelisk in the center of the chamber. It’s black with slits of glowing purple, and when Keith narrows his eyes he can see it’s only a bubbling fluid encased in glass and rock.

“What the hell is that?” Keith asks, taking a deep gulping breath. 

“I’m not sure,” Kolivan says, “but we should leave.”

“I thought we were taking it,” Keith says, “or at least a sample.”

“Kythel, did you see any guards on your way here?” Thace asks, clenching his fists. 

The fluid gurgles louder and louder, boiling and roiling within the metal and glass structure. 

“We need to leave,” Kolivan says, tugging at Thace’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“I-I… there wasn’t anyone at the booth and there was no shift change with the sentries,” Keith stutters. “There weren’t any patrols at all.” 

“All the more reason to leave,” Kolivan says.

Keith moves closer to the obelisk, trying to get a better view. “That doesn’t look like anything Lotor or Mom had been working on at the Deadzone.”

A deep tremor travels through the length of the base, sending the Blades sprawling to the ground. The lights flicker and a deep groan echoes through the chamber. Keith’s wrists throb from his spill. Hands grab at his shoulders, tugging him up.

“We’re leaving!” Someone – Kolivan – shouts as the scaffolding thuds to the ground like a building collapsing in on itself. A burst of bright pink light blinds Keith and he’s flung backwards into a shelving unit. Hot pain spears through his back and into his limbs. His hands fall limp at his sides as he’s stunned, his head throbbing. The grind of metal on rocks screams in his ears. 

“Dad! Kolivan!” He shouts, but he can’t hear his own words. He can’t hear his own voice. Gritting his teeth and tasting blood on his tongue, Keith rolls on to his hands and knees, struggling to rise. When he finally manages to gain his footing, he feels the rush of cold, black water climbing up his ankles. He blinks past the blinding light and pain, his hand searching to make sure his mask is still affixed to his face.

A large jagged hole in the roof of the warehouse allows black ocean water to gush in like a rotting, open sore. The obelisk has been blown to pieces; all that remains is just black rock and pink quintessence smelling of ozone, urine, and rancid socks. A bomb. It was a bomb. Keith collapses to the ground and pain radiates throughout his torso. Looking down, a sliver of rock – like a knife – juts out from his abdomen, shallowly lodged in but he doesn’t dare take it out. 

He wobbles back on to shaky legs, grabbing onto a piece of shelving shrapnel to remain steady. Every move creates a trickle of pain, an electric jolt, that travels down the length of his body. He blinks again, his vision fuzzy.

“Dad!” He calls out again. He can hear himself now, but the roaring water is climbing at an alarming rate, already half-way up his thighs. He moves towards the door, shoving metal shelves and scaffolding out of the way. Gripping the handlebar, Keith lifts, pulling and pulling until it opens wider.

“Quiznak!” He curses, when he finally manages to keep it open, water cascading past his legs to fall through the empty stairwell shaft. It looks obliterated, the planks of metal collapsed down during the chain reaction of explosions throughout the creaking and groaning base.

 _The base is flooding,_ he thinks, wildly. 

He feels hands on him again, and he turns to see Kolivan, still masked. 

“Let’s go, boy,” he says, pointing to where the water keeps pouring in. 

Keith activates the thrusters on the back of his cuirass, helping him to rocket through the gushing waterfall. The thin flight suit beneath his armor, acclimates to the heavy pressure of the brackish water. 

“Where’s my dad?” he asks. 

“Sent him out the hole first,” Kolivan says through the still active communication link. “He’s going for our cruiser.”

His side burns, pain radiating through his abdomen. Keith winces as he swims through the torrent of water, bursting through the other side and into the roiling ocean. He half-swims through debris and sewage and toxic quintessence. 

“Head to the surface,” Thace orders. 

Keith lets out a sigh of relief. Part of him was skeptical, thinking Kolivan could have been lying just to get him out without an argument. He winces in pain and Kolivan grabs Keith’s arm, pulling him to avoid the current and the suction from the wounded base. 

When they finally break the surface, Keith deactivates his mask to take a deep gulping breath of oxygen and blinks away the remnant glare of the bright explosion. The cruiser is just skimming against the ocean, careful of the rushing waves, but his father is there with a bruised face, grabbing at his shoulder, hoisting him over the edge of the cargo ramp. Pulling him up and over, Thace pats down Keith’s face, smoothing back his hair. His father looks him over, glancing at the wound for only a moment. 

Kolivan climbs aboard, shoving Thace towards the cockpit. 

“Get us out of here,” Kolivan commands. “I’ll take care of him.”

Thace gives him only a hesitant look before scrambling back up the ramp and into the bowels of the cruiser. Kolivan grips him around the arm and helps up before slamming the button to shut the cargo door. Just before his eyes get hazy with lethargy, Keith takes one last glance at the crumbling base sinking into the black, churning ocean. 

\--

_“—happened?”_

_“Don’t call him…”_

_“He’s right, you shouldn’t—”_

_“Not until he’s awake!”_

_“Keith?”_

Keith wakes up to a sharp pain in his side and the sound of crunching.

“Holy crow! You’re awake!”

Keith opens his eyes to see Hunk leaning over him, a few crumbs at the side of his mouth from the snack he’s been chomping down on. His belly growls.

“How long have I been out?” Keith asks. 

“Twenty-four hours… an Earth day probably…” Hunk trails off. “How’re you feeling, buddy?”

“Sore,” he winces, lifting his hand to the wound he expects to feel. His palm rubs over tender, healed flesh. “Where am I? What happened?”

“They put you in a sleep pod on the Castleship and then we transferred you to the infirmary at HQ,” Hunk explains. “We got a distress signal and found you guys.”

“How are they… my dad and… Kolivan?” Keith gripes out.

Hunk lets out a chortle, before shoving a bowl of green snacks in front of him. “They’re fine, but Shiro and your mom laid into them. I have never seen Kolivan look so distressed in my life.”

With a little bit of help from Hunk, Keith sits up and dives a hand into the snack bowl, shoving the green chips into his mouth. A weird flavor of mint, wasabi, and sage coats his taste buds.

He must make a funny expression because Hunk laughs, loud and comforting. “I know, it tastes really bad, but Matt keeps leaving them in the kitchen. The taste starts to grow on you after a while.”

“Where is everyone else?” Keith asks, around a mouthful of this green gunk. 

“Still here at HQ,” Hunk says, taking the bowl and placing it on the bedside table. “We were taking turns watching you until you’d wake up.”

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem, buddy,” Hunk grins. “You would have done the same for us.”

Keith gives him a tight nod. He would. He would die for these people. 

Hunk gets him out of the bed, helping him into some fresh clothing before taking him to the meeting hall. 

“How bad is it out there?” he asks as they walk down the halls of the Marmora base. 

Hunk cringes. “Shiro is pretty mad. Your mom, well, she’s also pretty mad. Thinks you all were set up by Lotor. And Allura… she’s furious about the whole thing. One of the first leads we get about Lotor and it looks like he cleared out the whole base and used it to take out whoever had been tracking him.”

“You mean Zarkon or us?”

“Both,” Hunk nods. “Zarkon may have fired Lotor from his apprenticeship as Emperor, but after the Deadzone incident... Galra fighting Galra. Lotor not working in the best interest of your grandpa…”

“It’s chaos?” Keith confirms. 

Hunk nods again. “Yeah and it’s something we’re going to need to discuss at the next coalition meeting.”

Keith takes a deep breath, when they finally reach the meeting hall and the door slides open. The first person he sees is Ryou, leaning against the far wall, watching the cacophony of continued chaos erupt. Allura just finished slamming her hands down on the table, a stern look of aggravation on her face, but it’s Larka who is speaking.

“—need to confirm what Lotor is doing.” 

“We already know that was meant for us. Voltron. The Blades. The Rebels. The coalition!” Pidge says, frantically. “He almost took out three renowned members of the Blade of Marmora, one of which used to be a paladin of Voltron. Are we just going to ignore that?” 

“How do we know?” Allura asks, jaw clenched. “That could have been for Zarkon.”

“We have no idea if they are working together or—”

“Well, well, well,” Ryou says, voice almost comedic. “Looks like Sleeping Beauty is awake.”

All eyes turn to him and Hunk. The yellow paladin tosses Ryou a withering look. The clone brother returns it with a sardonic smile.

“Keith!” Pidge yells, and she’s throwing herself into his arms. And then the rest of the paladins are there to embrace him, squeezing him close. “You’re okay!”

He sees Larka and Coran smiling. He’ll hug them later, but for now he melts into Pidge’s embrace, hand searching for Shiro’s metal arm, head lolling on Lance’s shoulder for comfort. Hunk and Allura are squeezing them tight, as if they’ll all float away. He’ll think about Lotor, and his ambitious goals, later.


	3. Crusader

“This is so complicated,” Pidge complains for the tenth time in that session. A bright pink light dazzles at her fingertips before sputtering out like a dying flame.

“You’re doing fine,” Larka says from the bench, “but you’re struggling. Maintain your focus.”

Keith fidgets beside her, watching as Pidge tries to pull a ball of quintessence together and fling it at Allura’s general direction. The green paladin takes a deep breath, wiggling and stretching her fingers. She shifts her hands up, eyebrows furrowed while she yanks at the empty space between her palms as if she’s pulling sticky taffy. A droplet of sweat trickles down Pidge’s temple and her eyes narrow in concentration. 

_Patience yields focus,_ Keith thinks. 

“Come on, Pidge,” he says aloud. “You can do this. I know you can.”

Pidge grits her teeth, but finally another sputtering of pink quintessence flickers at her fingers. A smile cracks across her face, but it disappears when the quintessence sizzles out again. She makes a frustrated grunt, stomping her feet and flinging her hands in the air. 

“You’re overthinking it, Pidge,” Allura says. Slowly, the Altean princess creates a hazy coil of the void. It’s vibrant, warm, and pink, and wholly different when compared to the Imperial druid’s magic. The malleable coil whirls around itself, turning into a bright blue sphere.

Pidge lets out an aggravated shout. “What am I doing wrong? What is it? Are you pulling space magic from inside you? Is it like a soul or something?”

Shaking her head, Larka finally stands from the bench, slowly making her way over to Pidge. “No, you’re manipulating the energy around you,” she corrects. “It’s not always about controlling or refining raw quintessence. It’s not about pulling some sort of spiritual entity out of yourself. You must seek out the energy of the universe, mold it for your use, cling to it; but you must also allow the universe to use _you_ as the vessel.”

“But if quintessence is a part of everything, right,” Pidge asks, “then it’s a part of us? Why can’t I pull from within me?”

“Many centuries ago, my mother postulated that there were certain laws of quintessence. How it was to be used, how it worked. Just as there are other scientific laws, using quintessence was no different. Consuming this energy is much easier than pulling it from yourself,” Larka explains.

“Honerva took _allowing the universe to use her as a vessel_ too seriously,” Allura quips.

Larka nods. “It’s necessary to maintain a sense of control. That’s why I have you working through these forms. Control it in your hands, keep it within reach, familiarize yourself with the act of manipulating the elements…” Larka’s voice trails off as she summons a glowing purple orb. It crackles and hisses, but she contains it between both her hands before tossing it over to Allura. Her cousin catches it, immediately absorbing it into her own blue sphere. While Larka’s magic is aggressive with harsh jagged edges, Allura’s is calming like silky ribbons against cool flesh. For a few ticks, the spheres slam into each other, grappling like colliding stars. But Allura handles it well, until that vibrant blue and glowing purple turn into a rich indigo. When it finally dissipates, Pidge turns to Larka. 

“How come your mom let that quintessence control her?” Pidge asks. “If she was one of the best alchemists of her time, how did she get so overwhelmed?”

Larka frowns. “She had a thirst for knowledge, not unlike many of us. With knowledge comes power and some do not know how to handle it all.”

It’s a vague response, but Pidge nods in understanding, careful in her prodding of the thorny past. 

“Do you think that’s what happened to my dad?” she asks.

Keith’s breath hitches in his throat. The revelation of Pidge and Matt’s father being a druid, and an Altean no less, was overwhelming but not surprising. Being in space, far from Earth, has made them all realize crucial facets of themselves. Despite Hunk’s original timid demeanor when faced with the unknown, he has now become someone willing to jump headfirst into a skirmish to protect any alien species in need of help. His love for a Balmeran maiden has only fortified his resolve. Lance has developed into a prime strategist, calculating in his observations. Even being far away from his childhood family, so large and blended, Lance has clung to his chosen space family. He’s always been there to protect them throughout their fight with the Galra Empire. Shiro, who has seen more war than he should have, forced to fight in an arena that breeds brutality and cruelty, forced to find his way home with nothing more than missing memories and a strange metal arm. Keith, the grandson of a despotic emperor who thirsts for power and immortality. And now Pidge, the daughter of a rogue druid who may or may not be in cahoots with Prince Lotor.

 _Overwhelming, but not surprising,_ Keith thinks again.

“I’m not sure,” Larka says, tersely. “Coran and I have been looking through some of the Castleship’s data. Anything that Alfor may have left hidden.” She fixes her gaze on Allura. “Coran told me Alfor’s artificial intelligence had become corrupted. There may have been something in there, but we cannot find out now.”

“And the only leads you have is from back in the day, when Zarkon was resurrected and the war began?” Pidge confirms.

Larka nods. “There were a few Altean colonies outside our star system. Which ever ones remained may have been taken by Haggar and the druids she had already established. I had never tried to figure out how she had cultivated all those dark magicians. That was a mistake on my part,” she pauses. “I tried to avoid their presence as much as I could.”

“I don’t blame you,” Pidge says, brows furrowing. “We’ll just have to find some other lead.”

Pidge’s practice concludes with the promise of meeting in a fort-quint to go over her forms again. Larka encourages her to practice with Allura when they have time. The princesses head out of the gymnasium, saying they must prepare for the coalition meeting at noon, and that leaves Pidge and Keith to walk in the sunshine back towards the Castleship’s private landing pad.

“How are you feeling anyways?” Pidge asks. “I know the sleeping pod can take care of almost anything, but you did get a rock wedged in your abdomen.”

Keith absentmindedly presses his hand against his stomach. A couple of quintants have passed already, but he still feels anxious about what had happened. For the second time, Lotor had nearly left him to die, causing a chaotic event that almost killed people Keith cares about. After the destruction of the Deadzone, Lotor had disappeared, somewhere to his many bases he kept hidden from his father. But every time they grasped on to his whereabouts, he slipped through their fingers again. How many rarely used Galra outposts was he willing to destroy before Zarkon focused entirely on him? Zarkon was completely at ease with Larka and Lotor, as long as they kept out of his way. But Larka had helped Keith sabotage Haggar’s clone experiments, they had slipped away from Zarkon with Lotor’s help, and now Lotor was working outside Galra jurisdiction to do who knows what. Zarkon’s children had to be getting under his skin. Sabotaging the goals of the empire was punishable by death. 

“I’m fine,” Keith says, shaking his head. “Just overthinking how Lotor’s drama ties into the Earth experiment and what your dad is trying to accomplish. Which brings me to this question: can you shapeshift properly or did your dad put some kind of transmutation spell on you, too?”

Pidge laughs. “I don’t think he did that. Matt brought it up with Coran. He said that we can probably shapeshift on our own. That we may grow comfortable with it when we’re more… calm, less on edge. We probably look more human because of our mother?”

“So your bodies, even as babies, tried to blend in automatically?” Keith asks.

Pidge nods. “That’s what Coran thinks.” 

“Just pray you don’t end up shedding like I did,” he jokes. 

Pidge laughs again. “You really should have seen Lance’s face when a piece of your skin peeled off. He looked so traumatized.”

“Excuse me,” Keith smiles. “I’m pretty sure I was the one going through a traumatic event.”

They settle into a comfortable silence. Something that Keith enjoys about being with Pidge. She doesn’t find it necessary to fill in the silence like Hunk or Lance. She’s content to be quiet, pondering on whatever is bothering her until she figures it out on her own. Despite their different personalities, Keith knows that he and Pidge handle stress the same. 

“Sometimes,” she starts, breaking the silence, “I think back on how you were feeling and acting towards us before you found out about your parents. Before we met Ulaz… how distant you were… and I wonder if that’s what I’m feeling right now. Finding out about my dad, about what he did to Shiro and Matt after their first contact with the Galra. I just,” Pidge pauses, stopping them in their tracks. “I feel restrained, like there’s so much that I need to be doing. Whether it’s my studies with Allura and your mom, or figuring out what my dad has been doing, or these Voltron festivals and liberating these planets.”

“You feel overwhelmed?” Keith prods, turning to face her. 

“Restrained,” she repeats. “Like I’m not reaching my full potential. I find myself wondering if that’s what you were feeling back on Earth, like you knew that you weren’t supposed to be there. Like you were struggling to find out who your mom was. I feel like everything I’ve known about my dad has been a lie. He wasn’t the same person I knew… who I ate dinner with, who I went to the movies with every Saturday night, who helped me with my annual science fair projects. He’s not the same man.” 

Keith chews on his lower lip, worrying the thin skin. 

“And part of me really wants to know who he really is,” Pidge says, solemnly, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the gravel.

“Hey,” Keith presses a hand on Pidge’s shoulder, forcing her to look up at him. “We’re all one hundred percent behind you if you want to figure out who your dad is. You don’t even have to ask. We’re with you.”

A small smile brightens Pidge’s face. She playfully shoves him away.

“You’re so sensitive, Keith,” she teases. “Sometimes I think the loner routine was just a facade.”

“Oh my god,” Keith groans. “I’m trying here. Don’t make it out to be a big deal.”

“Aw, but it’s so cute when you play the sensitive one,” Pidge coos before pulling him back down the path.

\--

“We’re in the process of building three outposts in each of the Sigma quadrants,” Shiro explains to the other revolutionists at the long council table. “Most of it is just some tents, small encampments. But we need something sturdy, at least at one of the outposts throughout the four quadrants.”

“We need fallout shelters in case of Galra attacks for the non-combative rebel teams,” Lance adds. “We’ll need some of those plasma proximity shields, the ones Slav had been designing.”

Keith finds himself sandwiched between Umaala and Matt, the both of them flirting with each other during the coalition meeting. Until Tee-osh elbows Matt in the ribs.

“If we can fill out a request, that would be great,” Shiro says to Ryner. 

“There will be no need for a request,” Ryner admits. “We need to finish the manufacturing of a few mecha units for construction purposes on the Balmera. Afterwards I will have the resources delivered to the Sigma quadrants and I’ll send a team to help with the construction.”

“Thank you, Ryner.”

“It is no problem,” she pauses. “But I do have a personal request as well.”

“What is it?” 

Ryner turns towards Keith’s mother, a warm smile on her face. “I would like Princess Larka to help us with a few things at our laboratories again. And if it’s not too much trouble, a light explanation of your studies in synthetic quintessence. I’m interested in its plausible success and how it can be integrated into our operations on Olkarion.”

“Of course,” Larka smiles back, nodding in acquiescence. “I would love to return and help. I only ask if I can bring a few members of my science team,” she adds, gesturing over at Dorma and Ulaz.

Ryner nods, excitedly. “Yes, please!”

 _Again? Return?_ Keith looks back and forth between his mother and the Olkari leader. Had his mother been visiting Olkarion in her spare time? Keith’s gaze falls upon his father, who fidgets in his seat beside Larka.

“She’s avoiding him,” he sighs under his breath.

Apparently, it isn’t quiet enough, because Umaala overhears and snickers. 

“Of course,” she mimics Larka’s soft purr.

Keith tries to smother his chuff behind his hand.

“Kythel?” Kolivan prompts, pulling him from his private conversation with Umaala. He almost thinks that he’s in trouble, but Kolivan’s facial expression isn’t scolding. “The intel and maps that you picked up from headquarters?”

Keith nods, turning on his tablet and allowing the data to show up on the external hologram located in the center of the table. A series of maps, from Pidge’s Galra tracking system and the collective information gathered by the Blades over the past few phoebs, fills the screen. Like a slideshow, the hologram cycles through the many maps. Visuals of colonized Galra planets, small outposts tucked between asteroids, transportation depots for barrels and barrels of raw quintessence, cruiser schematics for ships commanded by some of the cruelest Galra captains. There must be hundreds of maps in the intel provided.

“These are all the places still controlled by the Galra Empire,” Keith starts, “that are in the nearest vicinity to many of _our_ outposts and colonies. This makes up one third of the Empire.”

“If we take control of that,” Hunk adds. “We’ll have a solid chunk of the Empire’s territory.”

“It will also paint a target on our backs,” Kolivan admits, “and there are no more Blades on the inside to sabotage what Zarkon is planning. They’ve been pulled out of their field missions and are reassigned.”

“Reassigned to missions against Lotor?” Tee-osh asks, knowingly.

Kolivan nods. 

“How do we know that Lotor and Zarkon are not working alongside each other?” she asks, raising a brow. “How do we know that Lotor is the true enemy? While you focus on him, it leaves his father unchecked.”

“We don’t know if he is the true enemy,” Shiro cuts in. “We only know that he may not be working for the Empire’s best interest. We know that Zarkon is focused on the Lions once again.”

Ryou clears his throat at Shiro’s side, lazily drumming his fingers against the table. “His obsession with the Black Lion outweighs whatever council he is getting from Haggar and his commanders. He doesn’t care what happens to his people, that was why it was so easy for his commanders to clamor for the position of Emperor. It’s why Haggar thought Lotor could have ruled in his father’s absence. She was wrong.”

The room falls silent at the clone’s words. He has insider knowledge; they would be stupid to ignore it.

“Lotor isn’t working for Zarkon,” Ryou continues, warily. “I was never allowed to attend his meetings and after he placed me in the field, our conversations were few and far between. But that much, I know for sure: Lotor is one of Zarkon’s enemy.”

“How are we supposed to trust you?” Tee-osh asks, narrowing her eyes. “You infiltrated Voltron, you—”

“He’s right,” Larka interjects. “He may have once been our enemy, but he is still correct. Lotor won’t be working for Zarkon. He hates him. That’s enough of a motivation for him to work outside the Galra Empire.”

The remainder of the meeting is uneventful, as were the last few. It’s an exchange of information, requests for more help, and the future of collaborative infiltrations. Coran makes a pointed claim that it doesn’t matter whether or not the Blades focus on Lotor. They still must coordinate some plan to strike the Empire and leave them disabled within the sectors that the revolutionaries control. Whittling down Zarkon’s empire may take deca-phoebs, but they’ve been successful so far. That’s a start.

\--

“After your training is complete, we’re going on a vacation,” Shiro says, thinly chopping the blue leafy vegetable on the cutting board.

“Yeah? Where?” Keith smiles, raising an eyebrow. He grips the wooden spork, fluffing the steamed red grain. Keith has one more training mission, before he's considered a full-fledged Blade, to the Omicron quadrant with Umaala and Regris. There’s another quintessence supply stop that may be used by Lotor. And Kolivan wants that intel.

“How about a beach?” Shiro asks. “You want to try surfing?”

“I guess,” Keith shrugs. “Lance definitely knows how to! He could probably teach us how and keep us from embarrassing ourselves.”

Shiro shakes his head, dropping the knife to lean against the edge of the counter. “No. I think we should go… just the two of us.”

Keith feels his cheeks flush and his heart beats wildly beneath his chest. “Like a romantic getaway?”

Some time alone. Away from everyone, with just him and Shiro and a beach with warm sand. 

“Sounds like fun,” Ryou says, sauntering into the kitchen. “The Champion and a Galra Prince. Yeah, the both of you won’t attract any attention.”

Keith rolls his eyes at the disturbance in their peace. He sighs. They really do need a vacation, if only to get away from Ryou for a fort-quint.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay in the den?” Shiro asks, sternly.

“Yeah,” Ryou shrugs, taking a seat at the dining table. He kicks his feet up, leaning back and upsetting dishes and utensils. “But Ulaz took the remote from me. Some science documentary is on. Wasn’t really interesting.”

 _How can it be interesting to you, when you are the worst science experiment yet?_ Keith bites his tongue, swallowing the sarcastic remark before he can speak it aloud.

Shiro grits his teeth, preparing to berate Ryou when Larka comes skidding out of her bedroom, catching herself on the edge of the counter. 

“Quiznak, quiznak, quiznak,” she curses.

Keith raises his eyebrows. “Mom?”

Thace comes rushing out of the room after her, a tablet in his hand. For an instance, Keith thinks that maybe his father is chasing her, maybe they had a whispered argument and she’s going to leave, locking herself in the laboratory for the night. Instead, Thace bats Ryou’s feet off the table, saying, “Get your feet off the furniture, boy,” and rushes after Larka.

Ryou rolls his yellow eyes as Keith and Shiro follow after them. “Your parents are so weird, Keith,” Ryou groans. 

They find Thace shoving the tablet into Ulaz’s hand while Larka grabs the remote, flicking channels almost manically. 

“What’s going on?” Shiro asks. 

Ulaz’s eyes widen in shock as he stares at the tablet. Finally, Larka settles on a news frequency, a galactic emergency alert blinking red on the holo-screen. The visual pixelates before the image of Zarkon’s stony face comes through.

 _“…kill on sight.”_ His words are stern and harsh. A brutality that leaves unease settling in the pit of Keith’s stomach. He’s lost his appetite.

“W-what? What is this?” Keith asks, looking at his mother.

“Wait,” she says. “Wait for it.”

Like a recording, the video repeats again. Zarkon looks more irate than usual. His violet glowing eyes are menacing, a glimmer of lunacy shimmering at the surface.

 _“Attention, citizens of the Galra Empire. From this day forward, my son Lotor is to be regarded as a fugitive criminal of the Empire. All citizens are authorized to use deadly force to stop him or any of his soldiers,"_ Zarkon says, dark and foreboding. _“I repeat, Prince Lotor is an enemy of the state. Engage with extreme prejudice. Kill on sight.”_

Kill on sight?

Kill on sight? 

In his peripheral vision, Keith sees his mom’s shaking hands clenched around the remote. 

“Kill on sight? What does that mean?” Shiro asks, looking over at Thace and Ulaz. “He’s calling for Lotor’s execution?”

The transmission goes on three more times before the scheduled news broadcast continues. A chubby Galran woman looks over at her guest, a lithe soldier with a shiny puckered scar on her right cheek. 

“So, this is an interesting turn of events,” the reporter says, chuckling. “And we have Lieutenant Drak here to show us how the military will be accomplishing this task. With Voltron capitalizing on Lotor’s failings and the Blade of Marmora causing too much destruction, what do you think our Emperor is thinking?”

Lieutenant Drak grins, the scar tissue wrinkling from the stretch. “It is not like us Galra to assume what our esteemed leader thinks,” Drak gently reminds the reporter. 

Shiro’s head snaps over to the holo-screen so fast, that Keith almost thinks Shiro gives himself whiplash. His eyes grow wide with fear, a slight tremble in his hands. 

“Shiro? What’s wrong?”

“We can only assume that Princess Larka and her son, Prince Kythel, have gone into hiding due to Prince Lotor’s…” Drak clears her throat, a wily smile stretching deeper into her face. “I am sorry – the fugitive known as Lotor. It seems he may have his titles stripped from him.”

The reporter giggles like a schoolgirl, as if Drak made the most salacious joke.

“Lotor must be feeling spurned by his sister’s neglect,” Drak continues.

The reporter nods in agreement. “We all know about the history between the imperial siblings. We also have received word that Prince Kythel now works with this resistance faction.”

“But his mother is no longer in the field,” Drak corrects, gritting her teeth. "We do not know if Lotor will seek sanctuary with his sister."

The reporter must realize she is treading on thin ice, because she quickly changes the subject back to Lotor and Zarkon’s crumbling relationship and what it means for the economy and military.

“Lieutenant Drak,” Shiro says, a frail whimper in his voice.

Everyone looks over to him and Keith takes his hand, squeezing gently. “What is it, Takashi?”

Shiro looks over at Keith, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. Keith swallows the tension in his throat. Shiro never cries. Shiro is the stronger one out of the two of them. What would cause this?

“Lieutenant Drak was one of the soldiers that oversaw my captivity when I was held by the Galra for the second time,” Shiro explains. “She works for Pidge’s dad.”


	4. Nomad

The Omicron quadrant is the largest Galra-owned quadrant in this area of space. Filled with sprawling asteroid fields and rogue planets who call no star home, Omicron is a vast pit of shadows. How the Galra utilize this sector of space doesn’t shock Keith. Military installations, work camps, and quintessence depots within a large pocket of the void. 

Keith reviews the coordinates on the navigation console. 

“We’re about five doboshes out,” he says aloud. 

Umaala chuffs in agitation, the noise muffled behind her mask. “This place is creepy.”

“Too creepy,” Regris agrees. The tailed Galra has recovered from his extensive wounds, eager to be back in action. And Keith trusts Regris to see this mission through with them. 

The small espionage-class vessel carefully maneuvers through space, weaving through a darkened asteroid field. Keith tightly grips the ships controls as they exit it, passing by a rogue planet on their way. A drifting, shadowed sphere with beautiful stripes of glowing blue. An orphan stranded. Keith keeps his eyes on it, before double checking the navigation again. 

“Get ready to bail out,” he says, turning on the autopilot and activating the cloaking mechanism. Regris and Umaala follow his orders, heading to the airlock chamber and preparing to be rocketed out into the black expanse. 

Keith takes a deep breath. Through the glass he can see the depot. A small space station serving as a quintessence warehouse. Another supply route for Lotor’s new experiment. Taking another deep breath, he feels behind his back for his blade, making sure it’s still holstered above his utility belt. The feel of the familiar hilt brings him little comfort. 

“Kythel?” Umaala calls out.

He doesn’t answer, just heads to the airlock chamber. The door closes behind him as he enters. And then, Regris’ tail lashes out, slapping against the emergency lock. The three of them are sucked out into the vacuum, pulled farther than Keith was expecting. It takes no time at all for him to gain a sense of his surroundings, activating his thrusters and rushing towards the space station. Regris meets Keith, keeping to his left side with Umaala following soon after. Maneuvering around the stray pieces of rock from the asteroid field, the three Blades head towards the warehouse, their mask monitors calculating and timing their distance from the sleek, silver depot. 

“Regris, get ready to hack into the emergency airlock,” Keith orders. “We’ll sweep the floor and head up to the central hub.”

“Copy that,” Regris says, mechanically.

“What about the soldiers? The sentries?” Umaala asks. 

“Engage only when necessary,” Keith mutters as the distance between his team and the depot grows smaller. 

Umaala sighs, “Let’s just hope the military doesn’t find out we’re here.”

“I doubt they will,” Keith counters. “I’m sure Lotor doesn’t want any of Zarkon’s soldiers snooping around.”

An uncomfortable silence settles between the three of them. A Marmora summit was held immediately after the initial broadcast of Zarkon’s announcement. His call for Lotor’s execution. The entire universe probably knew about it at this point, but it still had been awkward when Kolivan had explained that this didn’t change anything. Lotor was still their enemy until proven otherwise; and the more intel they gathered on his activities, the better.

“Alright, I’m gonna say it,” Umaala says. Keith can hear the smile in her voice. “What is Lotor going to do? What does someone have to do, to get their sire to call for everyone in the cosmos to murder them? I mean, if someone kills Lotor do they just bring his head to Zarkon and they just get paid for their trouble?”

Keith hears Regris groan across the communication link. 

“I’m going to take point,” Regris says, shifting his boosters to a higher setting. “I’ll have the airlock open by the time you get there.” And then he’s rocketing ahead of them.

“Kythel, answer me,” Umaala pouts. “What do you think? You think your mom’s gonna let him—”

“I don’t think my mom is going to be happy with anything Lotor does or wants to do,” Keith cuts her off. Larka had been eerily silent after they watched the broadcast. Keith suspects that she was more intrigued by Lieutenant Drak and her connection to Pidge’s dad. 

Thankfully, Umaala drops the discussion as they get closer and closer. Keith is even more thankful that Regris is unplugging his portable hacking device and pocketing it in his utility belt. The large door slowly slides open. 

Once the three Blades are safe, Keith hits the emergency lock to shut the door. A long droning noise sounds off as the air begins to stabilize in the chamber. 

“Remember, sweep this floor. Then we’ll head to the hub. Umaala, remember to stay with Regris. Guard his back while he retrieves the intel.”

“What about you?” Regris asks. “You’re not thinking of—”

“Once we find out where the new quintessence is stored, I’ll go retrieve a sample and then we’ll get the hell off this thing.”

“Kythel, I beg you,” Regris starts. “We shouldn’t separate. This may be an unmanned depot, or we could be in for a surprise like last time.”

“Or the time before last,” Umaala adds, dryly. 

He knows they’re right. They should probably stick together. Kolivan had gained a tip about Omicron after Tee-osh’s rebels managed to hack into some radio chatter coming from Lotor’s generals. Usually Lotor’s communications were tightly wrapped, but Keith didn’t doubt that perhaps things were starting to unravel for the prince. Keith wasn’t on the inside anymore. He couldn’t spy on Lotor. None of the Blades could know what was truly happening on that side of the Empire. But Lotor’s generals had to be fumbling if rebels had managed to pick up some talk of a quintessence depot, hidden within the Omicron quadrant. 

_Or this could be another trap,_ Keith thinks. Lotor is wily and unpredictable. For all his grandiose speeches about joining forces with Larka, working together towards his goals, sharing their knowledge of quintessence with each other; he had ultimately lied. Lotor didn’t want to be allies, he didn’t want to share his knowledge. He made that perfectly clear when he had left Larka and Keith at the Deadzone base to fend for themselves, while Zarkon’s soldiers tore the station apart. If Voltron and the Blades and the rebels hadn’t gotten there in time, could they have gotten away before the explosions? Could Sendak have truly helped and protected them as they slipped into an escape pod? _Sendak._ A monster who tried to help them and whose status was currently unknown. Most likely dead. Perhaps that humiliated commander still held some childhood affections for his mother.

Regardless, Keith had wasted time trying to get through to Lotor. All he did was play his sadistic games of training alongside him, pretending to bond over their similar predicaments. 

“I won’t let that happen again,” Keith murmurs. 

“What?” Umaala prods. 

Keith shakes his head, swallowing around the tightness in his throat. “I won’t let that happen again,” he repeats. “I won’t let us get hurt. Once you get the intel, the both of you will head to where I am. We’ll leave together. I promise.”

Even as Regris gives him a sharp nod, Umaala’s shoulders sink in acquiescence. Keith knows she wants to say it. _Don’t make promises you can’t keep._

The door to the airlock opens after the pressure and oxygen levels stabilize. They stick close to each other in the first few ticks, racing through the corridors. There is only one sentry on patrol and Umaala quickly disables it, her blade cutting it in two. They end up fanning out as the main corridor grows wider.

“The lift to the central hub is up ahead,” Regris says, taking a quick glance at his wrist device. Umaala takes point, cartwheeling herself ahead of them. She’s as nimble as a ballerina, so light on her feet. She’s already calling down the lift when they get to her. Keith has to cut down another sentry who rounds the corner, its attention grabbed by the soft pinging of the elevator. Wiring and sparks spew from its broken neck.

The door to the lift opens and they step in, Regris programming it to head straight to the central hub and ignore all calls to other floors. The rickety elevator climbs at a steady pace, before dumping them in the corridor adjacent to the central hub. 

The three Blades freeze. The entrance to the hub unit is open. Hot air rushes out, a heavy heat created from all the computer equipment. The environment is unnerving. He feels unfamiliar magic settle over his uniform. Gray walls and purple sub-lights mimic every Galra location he’s been in, but there’s something slightly different about this place. Keith takes the first step forward to the open doorway, peering around the edge. 

The room is empty, save for the consoles against the walls and the rows of benches in the center of the room. Further into the chamber, Keith sees a large conveyor belt loading vats of yellow quintessence into a deep basin. Three metal prongs stick out from the walls, the ends crackling with purple-white energy. 

“This is no regular depot,” Regris whispers from behind him. “It’s a quintessence refinery. Used by druids of the highest echelon.”

Keith’s hands grip the edge of the doorway.

“What?” Umaala sputters. “Why is Lotor using a quintessence refinery all the way out in Omicron? How did he get this place?”

Keith’s cheeks flush beneath his mask, anger coiling deep within his chest. How did Lotor manage to maintain a refinery within an Imperial-owned quadrant? It was well hidden from the other outposts and depots floating through this nest of drifting rocks and planets. But how did someone who had originally placed himself into self-exile gain this main supply line? And how soon would Lotor be cut off from it, once Zarkon’s execution order was attempted by some overzealous soldier or apathetic bounty hunter? 

“He may be working with druids,” Keith says, uneasily. “Regris, let’s move. Find out what he’s doing with this place.”

Regris gives Keith a tight nod, before moving to the closest console and thumbing through his utility belt. He plugs in his equipment and slides a spare encrypted chip into an outbound slot.

“I will work quickly,” Regris hisses. 

“Good,” Keith replies. “The faster we download that intel the faster I can retrieve those samples.”

“This isn’t it?” Umaala asks, pointing over at the three large vats of yellow quintessence. 

Keith shakes his head. “What we’re looking for isn’t in its raw form. Lotor himself had been concocting his own fuel. From the information, my mom gathered before we escaped, it looked like he was formulating something similar to how the Alteans utilized quintessence. It was uncorrupted and non-Galra based—” Keith’s eyes widen. 

“What?” Umaala looks at him with curiosity. “What is it, Kythel? What’s wrong?”

“I-I think I know what Lotor is trying to do,” he says. 

He hears Regris’ fingers pause in their clacking. 

“Clean energy. Renewable energy,” he sputters. “What do the Galra do? They suck planets dry of their quintessence. They leave those worlds as dead husks. But Allura’s Altean magic – the alchemy that was studied before – once they take the quintessence, they replenish it with their own life-force. With Voltron they could have made it system wide, everyone could have had that clean energy, filtered and renewable without expending their own personal reserves.”

“Kythel, why would Lotor be interested in that?” 

Keith chews on his lower lip, trying to find the words. Why _would_ he be interested?

“When Princess Larka and you reported back to the Record, you stated that Lotor had taken some of her research, correct?” Regris asks.

Keith nods.

“Perhaps he needs the synthetic to complete the refinement of this new formula,” Regris explains. “Maybe he struggles to complete his own project.”

“Or maybe,” Umaala starts, voice wavering, “he wants to be able to control the access to rifts to get into those untapped reserves. That’s why he wanted that Teludav technology, right? So he could travel through the rifts unharmed? He wouldn’t have to depend on Galra fuel, his dwindling supply line, or Larka’s synthetic formula.” 

Shiro had told Keith all about their time in the rift: how Lotor used them to bring back a second comet, how Lotor stole it away from them, and who knew what the exiled prince was trying to accomplish now. Whatever Lotor had used the ore for, it all led back to his interest in quintessence and his possible allegiance with the rogue druids.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Regris says, pulling Keith from his reverie. “I’ve found the location of Lotor’s quintessence. The last time his ship passed through here was three quintants ago, but it also seems there are a few on duty sentries aboard.”

“Where is it?” Keith asks, hastily. 

Regris pauses to click on the screen. 

“The floor above,” Regris answers, and Keith is already moving out of the hub. “Kythel, wait! Take the emergency side stairwell down the hall. It takes it right up to the warehouse.”

“Thanks,” he says. “Meet me there when you’re done.” He doesn’t wait for their response, just bypasses the elevator and heads down the empty hall towards the side stairwell. He doesn’t hesitate to shove open the emergency door and rush up two flights of stairs. He carefully emerges from the stairwell and the sliding egress door. The warehouse is a large room, the same size as the refinery below it. Rows and rows of shelving units hold canisters of liquid quintessence in various states of processing. Some glow an odd pink. Many of them are blue, tinged with indigo or brilliant viridian.

“Lotor is experimenting,” Keith murmurs softly. 

“What?” Umaala says through the communication link. “What is it?”

Keith swipes his finger across his wrist device, syncing their masks with his own. 

“What is that?”

“It’s in various states,” Regris comments. “He hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Whatever _it_ is…” Umaala trails off. 

“What should I do?” Keith asks aloud, walking down one of the rows, hand drifting over the glass containers. 

“Take a sample of each,” Regris says. “We’ll be there in five doboshes.”

Keith nods to himself, before rummaging in his utility belt for the glass tubes. Methodically, he grabs the blue-viridian canister and pries the metal lid off. Unscrewing the cap to the glass tube, a small transparent plume unfurls from within. It coils, mindlessly reaching out in midair. Keith dunks the plume cap into the liquid, watching warily as the plume soaks in the material. When the feathered tentacle grows plump from the absorption, Keith delicately places it back into the glass tube and screws the cap on. 

The young Blade follows the same procedure with the blue-indigo quintessence and the more unstable pink liquid. After three glass tubes are filled with whatever concoction Lotor seems to be cooking up, Keith pockets them in his utility belt and places the canisters back on their appropriate shelves. 

“Like no one was ever here,” Keith says under his breath.

“Awww,” says a playful voice behind him. Red-orange hands curl around his torso as if to hug him. “But you just got here!”

Keith moves for his blade, but his assailant grips the hilt and pulls it out of its sheath. He grits his teeth, hands rushing out to grab it back, but she’s already dancing away. 

“Oh, come on, Prince Kythel,” Ezor singsongs, twirling the blade in some swashbuckling move. “I’m just being friendly.”

“Give it back, Ezor.”

“You remember my name?” she asks, excitedly. “At least I left a good impression.”

“Not really,” Keith says, tersely. He drops his mask, narrowing his eyes. “You left me and my mom for dead.”

“There’s that cute, little face,” she smiles. It’s a wicked expression and his stomach roils uneasily. 

“How long were you watching me?” 

Ezor rolls her eyes. 

“You’re no fun,” she says, ambling away. Ezor runs her forefinger across the insignia at the hilt of the blade. “The Blade of Marmora. Such a serious organization. Useless. Practically paranoid. You would think you guys would have killed Zarkon by now.”

Keith makes a move to charge, to perhaps catch Ezor off guard as she shares her verbose thoughts. He halts when he hears the familiar sound of a whirring plasma gun coming from behind him. Keith edges himself closer to the nearest shelf, hoping that the person won’t shoot.

He looks to the side to see Acxa behind him, gun raised. 

“What are the two of you doing here?” he asks aloud. “Where’s Zethrid and Narti?”

“They’re not with us,” Umaala whispers through the comm link. “We’re on our way to provide backup.”

Keith lets out a breath of relief. 

“They’re attending business elsewhere,” Acxa says, stonily. “Not that it concerns you.”

“Whatever Lotor is doing concerns me,” Keith replies.

“Do you miss us that badly?” Ezor giggles. “We can always take you—”

“Ezor, enough,” Acxa grits out, anger laced in her tone. 

Keith hears footsteps as Lotor’s second-in-command advances on him. 

“Give me my blade back,” he says, keeping both of them in his view, “and I’ll be on my way.”

Acxa gets closer and closer. Keith’s hand itches to hold his weapon again. 

“How does this work anyways?” Ezor asks, ignoring his statement entirely. “Does it activate on command or something?” She swats through the air as if the blade will come to life at any moment.

Keith licks his lips nervously. “Please, Ezor,” and Acxa is almost, _almost_ , just so close— “It’s my mom’s blade. It’s really important to me.”

Ezor’s head snaps up, a wily grin stretching across her face. “I would imagine so. You’re one of those sensitive mama boys, aren’t you?”

Taking a deep breath, Keith swivels around. Using the shelving unit, he jumps up and around, somersaulting to land behind Acxa. Ezor lets out a graceless squawk as Umaala tackles her against the opposite shelf. She slips, taking Umaala with her, still holding on to the blade. Glass canisters smash against the floor, cracking like thin eggshells. Pink and blue quintessence wash across their feet and he’s reminded of the day he began doubting himself. When his skin turned lavender at that transport hub over a deca-phoeb ago. 

Keith takes advantage of Acxa’s surprise. He moves behind her, grabs her wrist and cocks the gun. His finger slides over hers, pressing down and letting out a stream of plasma. It crackles out, hitting the ceiling and leaving a scorched spot as it melts the metal. Acxa elbows him in the ribs. Throbbing pain radiates through his side. Before she can dip out of the way, Keith grabs her around the waist and slams them both against the floor. 

Her gun slides just out of reach. But it doesn’t matter because their grappling causes a shelving unit to collapse, burying it under glass and metal and churning quintessence. They grapple, lashing out with curled fists and strong kicks. He lands a blow to the left side of her head. Acxa strikes out, grabbing Keith’s thick hair through his hood and slamming his face into the ground. He tastes blood, coppery and hot on his tongue.

“My apologies, Kythel,” she hisses out, pulling back his head for one more hit. “But you’re in Prince Lotor’s way. You won’t leave with those samples.”

His bottom lip is split open and gushing purple-tinted blood like a geyser. Keith spits out the blood and saliva that coats his sharp teeth.

“Last time I heard,” he taunts, “Lotor lost his titles.” His words are blunt and condescending.

“What did you say?” Acxa growls, flipping Keith over on his back and straddling him. He gets a good look at her: sees the cut across her left eyebrow and her lid turning dark violet from the bruising and swelling. 

Keith strikes, hand grabbing for her throat and squeezing. He brings her closer, their noses almost touching. 

“I said,” Keith grins, “Lotor lost his titles.” Her hands are gripping his wrists and she’s slipping, her feet and strong legs unable to keep her upright as Keith brings her closer. He slams his forehead against her nose. Blood squelches against his forehead, broken and damaged cartilage crunching beneath that force, but he doesn’t stop. He carries on, slamming his forehead back against her nose. 

She doesn’t make a noise, not a squeal. When he looks up at Acxa, her eyes are still open despite the swelling. A grin crawls up her face, even though he knows she’s in pain. She still manages to keep her gleeful composure. 

“You are a worthy opponent, Prince Kythel,” Acxa says, her face tacky with blood. “We’ll meet again.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, releasing her neck before shoving her off. “Probably.”

Hitting the shelf, Acxa does not manage to move in time before it collapses atop her. Keith stands on unsteady feet, wiping his face with the back of his armored glove

“Let’s go,” Umaala tugs at his arm, passing him his blade. He sheathes it at the small of his back and double checks to make sure the tubes are still intact within his utility belt. 

They pass Ezor as she struggles to climb to her feet, a deadly grin on her face. But she doesn’t chase after them, instead choosing to make sure Acxa is okay.

 _At least they have some sense of loyalty to one another,_ Keith thinks shrewdly. 

Umaala and Keith rush out the emergency stairwell and down the hall. Once they’re safely in the lift, he finally asks, “Where the hell is Regris?”

“He’s picking us up at the airlock,” she says, adrenaline making her speak briskly. She wipes blood from her face after dropping her mask. “You look terrible, Kythel.”

“You don’t look so good yourself,” Keith laughs.

Umaala takes a moment to lick the blood of her teeth. 

“Do you think we should have left them alive?” Keith asks once their masks are properly affixed to their faces. 

Umaala chuffs, “We got what we came for and now Lotor knows that the Blade of Marmora are not his allies.”

Keith lets out a soft chuff in return, one filled with amity. It wasn’t a single blow to Lotor’s forces or plans, but they still roughed up two of his generals in a time where he probably needs more resources and alliances than he does problems. 

\--

Keith returns to Gal with Regris and Umaala after dumping the intel at the Record. He promises to meet them at the bathing hall after dinner. He had showered at headquarters after healing in a sleep pod. All he wants to do is crawl into his bed at his parents' domicile and sleep for a few vargas before calling Shiro. 

It is unfortunate when he places his hand on the keypad and opens the door, only to see Kolivan and Thace standing on one side of the den, while Larka shouts something at them in Altean from her spot in the kitchen. At their expression, Keith deduces that whatever she said should never be repeated around young children. Ulaz sits at the kitchen table, face weary and jaw clenched.

Larka goes quiet when Keith makes himself known, awkwardly waving his hand. “Hey. I’m back.”

“Kythel,” Kolivan is the first to speak up. “Antok tells me your mission went well.”

Keith nods, dropping his equipment bag on a kitchen chair. “Yeah,” he pauses, rolling his shoulders. The tension is palpable, the air stifling. “We had a run in with Acxa and Ezor.”

“What?” Thace says, raising his eyebrows. 

“Don’t worry,” Keith sighs. “Umaala and I handled it. We got the intel and the samples.” He looks over to his mother, a fake smile plastered on his face. “Dorma’s gonna bring them to your laboratory tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Larka says mildly. “Thank you, son.” His mother takes a few steps towards him and he falls into her hug. Larka kisses his forehead and smiles. “You did very well.”

“Thanks, mom,” he sighs. 

She gives him another faint smile before turning and heading to the bedroom she shares with Thace. The door slides shut behind her and Keith half-expects to hear it slam shut.

Keith groans, turning to Thace and Kolivan, “What did you guys do now?” 

Thace shakes his head before walking to him, pulling him into a hug and burying his face in his son’s hair. Keith chuffs, relaxed and trilling, eagerly awaiting to hear his father’s response. Thace is much more docile when compared to his mother’s temperament. They balance each other out, but right now it’s almost as if they’re two chaotic cyclones, battling for territory in an insignificant sea. They are unbalanced, and it puts Keith on edge.

Thace’s soft chuff is soothing and Keith clings to his dad. He wants them to stop these tense arguments. 

“You work well with Regris and Umaala,” Thace says, pulling away. His expression is stern, but there is happiness and pride beneath it. 

Keith smiles. 

“Thace, we must go,” Kolivan says. 

The young Galran Blade furrows his eyebrows, looking from his leader to his father. 

“Where are you going?” 

“There’s business that must be handled at headquarters,” Thace says. “I’ll be back in time for dinner. Don’t worry.”

Keith can’t help but worry, but he nods anyways and watches as Thace and Kolivan leave. He waits five ticks before turning to Ulaz. 

“What happened?”

Ulaz leans back in his seat. “Your mother is focused on figuring out what the Earth experiment is about. She wants to lead a science team. She wants to go to Earth and observe, find out what the Galaxy Garrison is doing, figure out who else may be involved. She wants to request Pidge to be on that team.”

“And? Does Pidge know?” He’s thankful that Ulaz is blunt and more interested in sharing information than Kolivan and Thace.

Ulaz shakes his head, “She’s just planning, thinking about how best to approach the situation. Every time she tries to discuss it with your sire or with Kolivan, they deny her. She thinks it’s a conspiracy. She thinks they’re keeping things from her.”

“And what do you think?” Keith raises an eyebrow. 

The science technician chuffs in mild annoyance. “I think she’s right. I find it intriguing that young Pidge’s father used Shiro after things didn’t work out with his father. I find it interesting that the Galra ship I was assigned to was still in Earth’s solar system phoebs after Shiro was shipped away from Central Command where he participated in the gladiatorial arena. Close enough that once I managed to free him, he was able to get back to Earth on his own. The same planet your mother and father had put you and the Blue Lion on, to keep you both safe.”

Keith shudders, feeling a heavy weight on his chest. “If you were so close to Earth, why couldn’t you come get me? You’re like my godfather. You could have—”

“Kythel, as much as I tend to defy Kolivan, I had specific orders,” Ulaz says, thick eyebrows knitting together. “I had already planted the coordinates in Shiro’s arm when I had the chance. It was a gamble. One that I wasn’t even fully prepared to execute.” 

He’s not satisfied with Ulaz’s answer, but he lets it slide. 

“Your mother knew… she thought you were safe on Earth,” Ulaz pauses. “Part of it is guilt.”

“Guilt?”

“Your mother feels guilty,” Ulaz explains. “She feels like she put you in danger, not knowing that these druids were working on Earth at the time. She feels like Thace and Kolivan know more about it than they were originally letting on. And…”

“And?”

“I tend to agree with her.”

Keith licks his lips, nervously looking at the floor. Before Lance had climbed into the Blue Lion’s pilot seat and became the catalyst that got them this far into space, Zarkon had been extremely close to finding all the Lions. He already possessed Red due to Sendak’s dumb luck. Yellow was hiding on a Galra mining outpost and Blue could have been taken by the druids at any time. The locations of Green and Black were the only unsolved mysteries. If Keith hadn’t felt Blue calling him, if Lance hadn’t taken the initiative to pilot Blue, would Zarkon already have Voltron? Could his father have been found out to be a spy and publicly executed? Would his mother be dead by then, too? Would the Blade of Marmora cease to exist? 

“If Mom is leading an expedition to Earth, I want to be on it,” Keith says sternly. 

Ulaz smiles. 

“What?”

“You’ll have to convince Kolivan and your father first. I’ll be joining you as well and they will no doubt complain about my choices, too.”

Keith wants to smile back. He can understand why Kolivan doesn’t want to let Larka do this. It’s a chance with limited positive outcomes. Infiltrating Earth will be difficult to accomplish, especially with people like Iverson at the helm.

“But it doesn’t matter if it’s a conspiracy theory or not,” Keith states. “Those druids, even if they knew I was on the Earth the whole time, they are somehow connected to Lotor. Narti proved that.”

Ulaz stands from the kitchen table, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Listen, whatever happens, your parents will work through this. They’ve always come out of things stronger. Your mother just needs time. Don’t worry yourself too much.”

Ulaz leaves him, knocking on the bedroom door and letting himself in before Larka can deny him. Keith groans to himself, kicking the toe of his boot against the floor. He really needs to crawl into his bed and take a long nap.

\--

Keith wakes up a few vargas before dinner. He rolls out of bed, changes his clothes, brushes his teeth, files his carnassial molars and cuspids. When he steps out of his room, he sees his mother sitting on the couch looking worried. 

“Did Ulaz leave?” Keith asks. 

Nodding, Larka chews her lower lip. She has the remote clenched tightly between her hands. In front of her, a communicator and several encrypted chips rest on the table. 

“What’s going on?” 

Larka turns to him. 

“Where are you going?”

Keith furrows his eyebrows. “Communication building. I want to talk to Shiro before dinner. I’ll probably be out for the night. Umaala, Regris, and I are going to the bathing hall.”

Larka nods, more to herself then him. She looks dazed, eyes stupefied as she turns back to the blank holo-screen.

“Son, d-do you think you can stay with me for a while?” she asks. “I want… I want to talk to you about something.”

Keith’s heart beats wildly beneath his chest. What the hell is going on? Swallowing his hesitancy, he gingerly sits down beside her. “Yeah, I can stay.”

“Good.” Her voice quakes, fragile, the gentle purr gone. 

The room is quiet, but Keith doesn’t look away from his mother’s pained expression. 

“I left my blade with you when you were just a cub. Mick… Mick kept it and I am so grateful that he had given it to you. But I can’t imagine it was under happy circumstances,” she says, breaking the silence. “I wanted you to remember where you came from. To leave something of myself with you. I couldn’t raise you. I couldn’t keep you by my side. We had limited resources. No other Blades had children at the time. No one was focused on building a family. Many of us were orphans ourselves. The war had taken everything. Left us with Gal as some imitation, a make-believe version of what Daibazaal had been.”

Larka places the remote down on the table, beside the communicator.

“Your father and I traveled across Earth, searching for the perfect place to leave you. I saw a man outside, tending to his plants and I knew he was the one. He looked gentle and kind, an old spirit.” A small smile lifts the corners of her lips. “Phoebs after you were born, when your father had been moved to Central Command and I was working on building a proper headquarters, Kolivan decided to assign me and Antok a mission to Earth. He wanted me to make sure the Blue Lion was properly hidden, fortify the protections around her. I didn’t understand at the time. Things had changed on Earth; I saw that when I left you outside of Mick Kogane’s home. Humans had become ambitious, wanting to search the stars for something out there. A sign that they weren’t alone in the universe. I didn’t think my people were already there.”

Keith can feel his blood pounding in his ears. 

“I couldn’t stay away,” she says, hand shaking as she grips the communicator. “I stalked that man. Followed him through market places, teleported outside his home, you were just a cub. You were so small and—” Larka’s voice breaks and Keith can’t help but place hand on her knee, squeezing, reassuring her. He wants to hear this story.

“He knew,” Larka smiles faintly. “I saw it in his eyes, the moment he realized that I was your mother. He wanted me to hold you. He named you Keith.” Her hands clench around the device. 

“Mom…” He’s heard this part before.

“Antok and I set up a console so we could keep track of frequencies from off- and on-planet,” she continues on. “I heard one message. This council of humans were talking. People with names of Holt and Shirogane… They were talking about first contact, something about aliens contacting humans. I didn’t fully understand the ramifications until much later. I let them come. I let them land on Earth. I knew what I was supposed to do and yet I was selfish. I thought that as long as you and the Blue Lion were safe, that nothing bad would happen. That the both of you would stay hidden forever. 

“When I heard that Voltron had formed on Arus, _an Altean colony_ , I felt like everything we had done, everything that Alfor had told me to do… I felt like I had betrayed his memory. Allura was supposed to stay hidden. You were supposed to stay hidden. You were both supposed to be safe until Zarkon’s regime was vanquished.”

“You couldn’t have known about Holt or Shiro’s father,” Keith says. “I understand why you left me. If Zarkon had been my father, I would have hidden my kid, too.”

Larka’s face flushes. “You would have fought, Kythel. You are braver than me. I’ve seen that strength in you. You never stopped during the Trials of Marmora. I told you then, and I’ll tell you now, that you chose knowledge over death.”

He understands. She needs to tell him this, she needs to share this intel with him. He’s been successful in his training, this preliminary stage. Keith will continue to train for the rest of his life like every other Blade, but he’s no longer some acolyte. 

“Before Antok and I left, I came to see you and Mick one last time. I wanted to hold you one last time, just to feel you in my arms,” she pauses. “And I told him everything. Daibazaal’s history, your culture in hopes that one day he could have shared it with you. I told him about the war and the Galra and how they operate. How they control people. I told him that there was a select frequency he could use to keep track of Imperial movement. I showed him what you truly looked like and he loved you even more.”

Tears burn his eyes, leaving wet streaks down his cheeks. 

“In my last moments with you, I gave him a communicator. Something that he could use to keep in contact with me. I had already known there was something strange going on. I just didn’t know the severity. I urged him to contact me during any emergency,” she says, and a soft smile grows on her face even as she cries along with him. “Kythel… for deca-phoebs, Mick and I would talk. He would tell me when you walked, when you tripped, when you cried, when you smiled. He told me you learned how to ride a bike… I had no idea what he had been talking about.”

Keith breathes heavily, his heart clenching. She had been watching over him the whole time. She had been there the whole time, even if he couldn’t see her.

Larka slips off the couch, shifting forward to gather all the encrypted chips. “Every log, every conversation Mick and I had are in these devices. I want you to have them, Kythel.”

“D-do you know what happened to him?” Keith cries.

Larka shakes her head, placing her warm hands on his cheeks. “In the last couple deca-phoebs of our contact, he had been talking about government corruption. He had been investigating something, but he wouldn’t tell me everything. He just kept putting it off, saying he’d tell me when he knew more. I believe it was the druids now because he said he was getting a job at a Galaxy Garrison outpost. He said you were moving, you were leaving Texas for Arizona or Nevada… someplace out in the desert. He told me that once the both of you were properly settled he would contact me.”

“Did he?”

“Yes,” Larka nods, “thankfully, he did. But he was getting so deeply embedded in something. He wouldn’t tell me no matter how many times I asked. I threatened him. I told him that if he didn’t tell me anything, I would come back to Earth and extract the both of you. But he said that whatever was happening within the Galaxy Garrison, he wanted to gather that intel. A few phoebs later, he didn’t contact me at our scheduled time.”

“When was this?” Keith’s hands are shaking, his body cold.

“I-I don’t know,” Larka admits. “You were nine deca-phoebs old.”

Keith’s hands coil into fists, his tears hot and burning, his vision blurry. “T-that was when… he died. It has to be. Maybe… maybe he saw something…”

Larka looks down, ashamed and horrified. “The last conversation we had, he told me not to worry about you. That you were safe and that you’d be under the supervision of Ryou Shirogane if anything went wrong. He said, _Trust Shirogane._ Tell me, please… that I trusted the right people.”

Keith wants to tell her the truth. He wants to tell her that, no, he was shoved into the foster care system. That he had been there until he was fifteen… when Shiro’s father plucked him out of some hellhole to finally attend the Galaxy Garrison’s astro-exploration program. That it took nearly seven years for Shiro’s father to track him down. He wants to tell her that he was tossed from house to house with only her blade for comfort. But he can’t. He can’t look down at this woman, crying at his lap, and tell her the truth.

He doesn’t deny that he’s angry. Angry at Kolivan and Thace and Larka and Mick, for making decisions for him. For keeping him away from his birthright, from his people. But still, he’s grown and he gets it.

“You all did the best you could,” Keith says. “Shiro’s dad helped me enroll at the Galaxy Garrison. Dad – Mick Kogane – was right. I was safe. And I ended up meeting Shiro. I was happy, Mom. Even if Thace and Kolivan knew something, it doesn’t matter. What happened in the past, stays in the past. We need to work together, to make sure that we figure out what these druids are doing on Earth.”

Larka looks up at him with watery eyes. 

“Whatever secrets everyone else holds, you have to forgive Dad and Kolivan,” Keith pauses. “I do. We must forgive one another if we’re going to defeat the true enemy.”

His mother shifts onto the couch. Still crying, she presses their foreheads together. 

“You are Kythel of Gal, son of Thace and Larka and Mick Kogane, Prince of Daibazaal, a Paladin and a Blade. And I am so proud of you, my son.”


	5. The Hidden Few

The warm, fragrant water softly laps against his shoulders as he sinks further into the steaming depths. Leaning back against the rim of the bath basin, Keith tips his head back, hair swept away from his forehead. The long gossamer curtains, that keep his section of the bath hall private, billow in the airy chamber. He’s glad for this public moment of privacy. No one can see the mix of dewy sweat and salty tears tracking down his face. 

It’s only been a few quintants since he last finished watching all the encrypted chips. The videos are ingrained in his mind. Although he may have not seen his mother, her soft purring tone in the audio had not changed in the last two decades. But _seeing_ Mick Kogane with stars in his eyes as he spoke with some foreign alien, as he showed her grainy pictures of Keith in bulky diapers and pale blue onesies, as the years had passed and Mick Kogane had only grown more weary. 

Keith has always wondered how his dad had gotten that scar, the one that bisected his right eyebrow. 

_“What happened?” Larka’s voice was filled with worry. The swollen skin above Mick’s eye was bloody and torn, haphazardly patched up with stitches._

_“I’ll tell you when I can,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “Keith is getting settled. You can’t—”_

_“Kogane.”_

_“Just give me more time.”_

_A starburst shaped bruise marred the prickly skin of his cheek. He hadn’t shaved in days._

_“Kogane.”_

_Mick lets out a loud sigh. “I got into an altercation with one of the lieutenants today—”_

_“What? What are you doing?”_

_“Being a Blade,” Mick smirks into the camera before wincing at the pain in his jaw._

_“Kogane… this isn’t a game,” Larka warned. “You’re supposed to be safe. Kythel is supposed to be safe.”_

_“He is, Larka,” Mick replied, leaning back in his seat. “I’m close. I’m close to finding out what the hell is going on around here.”_

“But you weren’t…” Keith murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, he leans forward to scoop up some water and splash it across his face. It’s cathartic and comforting, seeing the man who raised him. Seeing his human father do what Larka and Thace were trained to do. He’s now seen a part of that man he had never witnessed before. And although Mick tried to gain whatever speckles of information he could while he was alive, Keith and Larka don't know what exactly he was researching. Only that he trusted Shiro’s father.

The water sloshes as someone slowly eases into the bath beside him.

“I stopped by the house, but your parents weren’t there.” 

Shiro. 

Instinctively, Keith shifts closer, curling on the underwater bench and nuzzling his face against Shiro’s cheek. He presses a chaste kiss to the damp skin. 

“Mom and her science team went to Olkarion,” Keith explains. “Dad went with them. I think Allura roped them into going to that festival tonight.”

“She’s being more open to Allura’s opinions,” Shiro comments, metal hand tracing geometric shapes into Keith’s scalp. “You two really had it out, didn’t you?”

He had told Shiro the gist. His mother’s conversations with Mick Kogane, the possible connection to the Earth experiment, the mild embarrassment he felt while crying with his mom. But nothing more.

“Kinda.”

“And you really don’t want to tell her about the foster care stuff?” Shiro prods.

Keith shakes his head. “We all have our secrets. I’d rather her not be angry with him or your dad. It’s in the past.”

Shiro frowns but doesn’t argue. Instead, he presses his nose into Keith’s thick hair. 

“I know it weighs on you, Takashi,” Keith starts, “but we need to focus on this Drak woman.”

Shiro’s hand stills.

“You’re really changing the subject right now?” Shiro scoffs.

Keith wants to. He needs to change it to something else. Something they can move towards, a concrete mission instead of dabbling in the hypothetical. Dwelling on the past hasn’t done him any favors throughout his life. It’s always been about the mission, pressing forward in the face of adversary. The only thing he ever truly clung to was Shiro’s initial disappearance. Keith had done everything he could to find out why Shiro disappeared. When he was expelled from the Galaxy Garrison, it had been the perfect excuse to pack up and leave. Keith took everything he owned: all Mick left him, the blade that Larka left behind, Shiro’s clothing that had been left rumpled in the corner of his dorm room. He took it all and then hurried to the cosmic entity that pulled him back into the desert. 

“Patience yields focus,” Keith says, softly. 

“What?” Shiro inquires. 

“You always said _patience yields focus_ ,” Keith repeats. “You always knew what to say to me, to keep me on track. I was always impulsive and volatile, and you know how to deal with it. I put so much pressure on you then—”

“Keith…”

“I always needed you more than you needed me,” he chokes on his own words. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, shifting back to look at him. The paladin of the Black Lion clasps the Blade’s cheeks between his hands. “That’s not true. I’ve always needed you. When Dad got sick, you were always with me. You were all I had, and you kept me grounded. I thought my life was falling apart, but you were always there.”

Shiro presses his lips against Keith’s. It’s deep and heady, so much different than their last kisses. Since they’d been reunited, the paladin has been too gentle with him. Like his delicate body will break at the slightest movement, hands never wandering past Keith's hips. Too tender with this alien version of Keith. Their teeth briefly clack together when Shiro’s warm tongue slips into the burning cavern of his mouth. Shiro acts as if he is trying to prove how much he needs Keith. 

The young Blade whimpers at the feeling of Shiro’s fingers tangling in his hair, yanking him closer. With only a bit of trouble on his part, Keith twists to straddle Shiro’s lap with his hands perched against scarred broad shoulders. Shiro’s time as the Galra Empire’s Champion has not left him without wounds, knotted pieces of pale tissue from whips and blades and plasma fire. Despite how they’ve come to be, Keith loves them all. He strokes over each healed wound with sharp nails, feeling the rough scars and even the ones that glitter like metallic pink streaks of raw sugar. When they finally pull apart, the air around and between them is sultry and rich. Hazily, Keith can feel Shiro straining hard and aching against him. Opening his eyes, Keith watches as Shiro lazily gazes at his swollen lips. A metal finger reaches up to rub against Keith’s damp chin, trailing down to the hollow of his throat. 

He feels oversensitive, trembling and anxious, like every part of his body is on fire. He’d gladly melt away in this heat, if he only could get closer. 

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Shiro chuckles, his voice deeper. “We’re in public and I’m pretty sure these curtains are see-through.”

“Always the voice of reason,” Keith chuffs. He doesn’t slip from Shiro’s lap and he couldn’t if he tried. The paladin’s hands tighten around him, pulling him in firmly despite his last words. 

“I promise you, after the closing coalition ceremony,” Shiro murmurs, “we can disappear for a few days.”

Keith hums in agreement, content as he nuzzles into Shiro’s neck. Keith raises a hand to trace over the scar tissue connecting Shiro’s prosthetic to his worn flesh. 

“But for now,” Shiro starts, “if you’re off duty, maybe you can come back to the Castleship. We can talk there… with the others. They miss you.”

Keith pulls away, eyebrows raised. “I feel like you’re trying to rope _me_ into coming with you to Olkarion.”

Shiro cocks his head to the side, a small grin playing on his lip. “Guilty.”

Keith shakes his head, smiling. He sighs. If his mother is willing to go to Allura’s coalition festival, he can suck it up, too.

“I’ll have to tell Umaala or Regris before we leave,” he says. 

Shiro kisses his cheek once more, before settling him down beside him again. “It won’t be that bad. Voltron does his performance and Coran does his crazy speech. We greet people. We give our resources and then we head back into space.”

“I know,” he admits, “I record the shows and watch them when I come back from a mission.” 

Shiro’s eyes widen in surprise, his cheeks tinting red. 

For the next varga, they bathe together. Soaking up the warm water and cleansing oils. Shiro complains that his metal will start creaking and that his toes are pruning too much, and Keith finally lifts himself out of the water. They dry and dress each other in silence, Shiro’s hands still too hesitant when they dip lower against Keith’s pelvis. 

Hand in hand, they find Umaala sparring with Regris at one of the city’s gymnasiums. Umaala winks when Keith tells her he’ll be spending the night on the Castle of Lions. As they approach the Black Lion, Keith grows nervous. The last time he was in a lion, it was during the escape from the Deadzone. Even though she was familiar and friendly, he had never piloted Green. Black was an entity that he had been a physical part of, it had been an extension of himself for a short while. He had felt not only Shiro’s life force, but Zarkon’s, too. 

Keith had glossed over most of the events that took place on Zarkon’s dreadnought. He hadn’t been interested in sharing all the crucial details: the strange grandfather-grandson dinners, being forced to enroll in academic courses, the children and teenagers who whispered behind his back. _The Emperor’s grandson. The Emperor’s grandson. Prince Kythel? A true heir?_ Even though they had limited interactions, thinking about Zarkon made his anger flare and his skin crawl. Zarkon’s connection with Black may have been broken, but Keith still held that residual memory of Zarkon sitting in that pilot seat more than ten thousand years ago. 

“You alright?” Shiro asks him, as they walk into the cockpit. 

Keith shakes his head. “Just thinking.”

“Care to share?” the paladin asks before sinking into the pilot seat. Black’s purplish lights swirl to life, lighting up the consoles and dashboards. 

Keith almost wants to lie.

“Zarkon,” he says, truthfully. “I’m just thinking about Zarkon and the Black Lion.”

Shiro’s hands are poised on the toggles, his eyes furrowed with concern. “You don’t have to worry about that. Their link… it’s broken. He’s never getting his hands on Black again. Especially now that his focus is on Lotor.”

Even as Shiro flies them away from Gal and towards the Castleship, Keith can still feel the aching threads of his own past connection to Black. 

\--

As a child, Keith felt like he was on the outside looking in. Even back at the Galaxy Garrison, he had broodily stuck to himself. Observing, only speaking to toss in some loose-lipped sarcastic remark. This is not like those times. 

He’s comfortable here with Team Voltron. Easy laughter echoes within the lounge. Pidge teaches Allura the crucial art of declaring a thumb war, one in which Allura completely demolishes Lance’s poor thumb with one strike. Shay and Matt are along for the ride, quickly doling out cups filled with some sweet perfumed drink that Shay’s mother brewed that morning. Even Coran has joined in, reciting old Altean songs that are more like tawdry-written epic poetry, but no one has the heart to stop him. 

_“There once was hero named Jordwic,_  
_And he traveled the world with glittering gold and_  
_Never felt sorry for anything or so the bards had told._  
_And one day he met a sweet old sorceress with ringlets_  
_The size of clock-spins—_ ” 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute,” Pidge raises her hand. “What are clock-spins?” 

“Oh, well, you know,” Coran says, gesticulating as if he’ll grab his words from thin air. “Like the gears of clock.”

“So why not say gears?” Pidge asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re arguing over semantics, Pidge,” Hunk says around a mouthful of fluuto beans. 

“It’s a very rough translation from Old Altean,” Coran explains. And then Coran starts a new lecture on Altean literature from the first millennia of recorded history.

Keith tucks in to Shiro’s side, legs curled up beneath him. He gazes around the room. Only Pidge is riveted by the story and everyone is starting to mill about. Keith frowns. 

“Where’s Ryou?” he whispers in Shiro’s ear. 

Shiro’s square jaw clenches. “I had to put him in a sleep pod before I left to come get you.”

“What?” Keith raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Lance and him got into a… fight,” Shiro says, quickly. 

“What do you mean a fight? Did Ryou hurt Lance?” Keith’s eyes widen.

“Nothing like that,” Shiro replies. “He’s just been treading on thin ice. He keeps antagonizing everyone. I tried sitting down with him, to explain his situation—”

“But he’s not getting it?” Keith interrupts. “Listen, Shiro, if you want me to handle him, I will.”

Shiro smiles, leaned over to kiss him on the temple. “I’ll deal with him. He likes causing chaos, but we need him for insider knowledge.”

“If I ask, Mom can probably figure out a way to pull out what we need,” Keith says, not backing down. “Then we can… we can put him away for good.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Lance asks, waltzing over to them with his bruised thumb half-submerged in his cold drink. 

“We—”

“What we’re going to do for our vacation,” Shiro interrupts, squeezing Keith’s thigh reassuringly. “Surfing or camping. My vote is surfing, but knowing Keith—”

“He’ll pick camping,” Hunk grouses. “We all know it.”

And like that, the topic changes. After two vargas of horsing around with Hunk and Lance, they begin to get closer to their destination. Shiro decides to yank Ryou out of his sleep pod while Allura tends to the bridge. 

“Come with me,” she smiles, grabbing his hand. 

Keith raises his eyebrows but follows nevertheless. 

“Have the Blades figured out anything about Lieutenant Drak?” Allura asks. 

“Not yet,” Keith replies. “Kolivan is calling back most of the agents still in field and reassigning missions again. Lotor has been his main focus right now, but he’s willing to expand it to figure out what’s going on between Pidge’s dad and Drak.”

“Kolivan wants to know who the biggest players in this game are?” Allura prods.

Keith nods. 

“Well, at least Larka is out of her quiznaking laboratory,” she groans. “Does she and Thace know you’re coming?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. I guess it’ll be a surprise.”

The sliding doors to the bridge open and Allura nearly skips to her control dais. Her hands press down on the pillars as they rise from the flooring. Three blue holo-screens materialize, and she begins her usual task of shutting off the autopilot, checking for the appropriate coordinates, and activating the boost thrusters. The ship adjusts by a few degrees and accelerates. 

“How long is this going to go on?” Keith asks, aloud. “These festivals and rallies? I’m all for liberating these planets, but shouldn’t we be working towards a goal.”

“This is a goal, Keith,” she replies. She looks startled and unsure of how to approach this topic with him. She’s probably heard enough of these thoughts from his mom. “This is unifying the coalition. It’s inciting more rebellion. Some of these people… they need to see Voltron. They need to see what they’re fighting alongside.”

“It’s not enough to want to free your people,” Keith comments, sarcasm thickly laced in his words. 

“That is enough,” Allura sighs. “But sometimes people need an extra push. And if seeing Voltron and hearing rousing speeches helps them, then so be it.”

Keith chews his lower lip, leaning against the arm of Pidge’s seat.

“Keith, I know this isn’t the way you think it should go,” Allura muses, “and in any other circumstances, I would reconsider. But until we have a solid lead on Lotor and Zarkon, we need to gather our allies and make sure they know we’re there for them.”

She turns to him, smiling. “Now, go to Coran’s console and make sure the landing gear is rotated to its vertical position.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “W-what?”

“Go on,” she says softly. “I need help and Coran’s probably still reciting his poetry without an audience.”

Nervously, Keith nods, his legs moving automatically as he takes his place at the front console. He taps a series of controls at the front. He slides the blue dials up before shifting the toggle gear to its vertical position. His lavender fingers tingle at the feeling of the Altean technology. Through the front window, their destination gets closer and closer.

Olkarion always reminds Keith of a more mountainous version of Earth. It’s littered with oceans and seas and lakes, but there is brown soil and green grass and rainforests that smell of geosmin. The largest mountain chain covers the circumference of the planet, physically dividing the northern hemisphere from the south. Those mountains and volcanoes reach for the heavens, arching up and down. 

The ship reaches the northern, and most populated, continent. There is no morning or night, only perpetual sunset. The sky, a creamy orange-yellow, highlights the landscape and makes the city towers glow. The Castle of Lions lands in the southern district of the city where great metal pyramids stand proudly. Coran, along with Team Voltron, have plans to prepare for the festivities at the forum square. 

“Can you take him?” Shiro asks Keith before they all dispatch. Shay is heading to the communication building to contact her brother and update the refugee camp on the efforts at Olkarion. Matt, himself, is to meet up with Olia at one of the warehouses in the city; preparations for an impending long-term mission to build outposts. It only grows apparent that there is still work to do before the show even begins. 

“You want me to babysit your clone-brother?” Keith whispers harshly. 

Shiro almost reels back, hurt by the Blade’s words. 

Keith chuffs in apology. “I’m sorry. He just…”

“I know, I know,” Shiro admits. “I shouldn’t ask you this. I know he pretended and—”

“No, it’s okay,” Keith interrupts. “I can take him.”

“I only ask this because I doubt any of the Blades will take his shit,” Shiro says. “Your dad may just punch him in the face.”

“I’ll punch him in the face,” Keith says with an affectionate smile.

Shiro returns the smile with a sweet kiss to the corner of Keith’s mouth. “Thank you,” he says. 

Keith nods, squeezing Shiro’s human arm in reassurance. He leaves the bridge, only to run into Ryou. The clone leans against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Took you long enough,” Ryou scoffs with narrowed eyes. “Trying to get Shiro to change his mind.”

“Shut up,” Keith mutters, walking past him. “And keep up.”

“Where are we going?” Ryou asks, falling in step behind him.

“Science building,” he grunts. 

“Why?” 

“To see my parents.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

“Because why?”

“…”

“Keith?”

“…”

“Prince Kythel?”

“…”

“Which do you prefer? Keith or Kythel? Because your parents call you Kythel and Shiro calls you Keith and I just think it’s kind of weird that you haven’t formally come out as—”

Keith quickly turns around and grabs Ryou by the nape of his neck. He reaches for the clone’s Galra prosthetic, twisting it behind the clone’s back. Shifting his weight, Keith slams Ryou’s face into the pristine white wall. 

“I’ve made it abundantly clear that I don’t like you,” Keith hisses behind clenched teeth. “The _only_ reason that you’re here right now is because Shiro wants you here. So, for the sake of my sanity and your life, just shut up!”

Ryou chuckles. “This is an interesting position, Your Imperial Highness. Tell me, we did get kind of intimate before, but have you and Shiro—?” His words break off into a hiss as Keith jerks his head to the side by his hair.

Keith’s grip tightens around the metal arm. He pushes himself away, taking a deep breath before straightening his clothes out.

 _Don’t do it,_ he thinks. _Don’t take his bait. Patience yields focus._

Ryou had posed as Shiro. Ryou had almost gotten away with it. He wouldn’t let that happen again. The depraved creature was nothing like Takashi. Keith turns away to take a deep breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. He then continues on his way, hearing Ryou’s heavy footfalls behind him.

Thankfully, the clone stays quiet.

Keith finds the Blades in one of the labs. His mother and father are huddled over one of the consoles, Thace tapping away on the keyboard while Larka gives him instructions. Ulaz is staring out the front floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the subterranean manufacturing basin outside. Dorma sits at one of the long work tables scrolling through a tablet. 

She is the first to look up at the sound of the door opening. A bright smile climbs up her face at the sight of Keith, but it quickly falls when she sees the yellow-eyed clone slip in behind him. 

“Kythel, you’re trailing garbage,” Dorma says, half-joking. “Your mother hasn’t taught you where to dump your refuse yet? Larka, what are you teaching him?”

Keith shakes his head. He hasn’t spent much time with Dorma, but he knows that she was Larka’s apprentice a long time ago when they first began colonizing Gal. Plucked from the druids and trained in the art of the blade, Dorma had become one of his mother’s lifelong comrades. He hadn’t even realized that Dorma had been one of the Blades that flanked Larka during their first meeting all those phoebs ago.

The three senior spies turn to appraise the scene, eyes narrowing almost comically at the sight of Ryou. 

“The Ancients have forsaken us,” Larka drawls. 

“Dial down the sarcasm, Mom,” he quips.

“Why is he here?” Thace asks, tersely.

“Shiro put me on babysitting duty,” Keith replies. “So here we are.”

“Can I defend myself?” Ryou asks, smirking.

“No,” the Blades chorus.

Slowly, Larka detangles herself from some thorny organic wires to greet Keith with a hug and a lingering forehead touch. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she says after pulling away.

Keith chuffs a childish greeting and shrugs.

“Shiro corralled me.”

In his peripheral vision, Keith warily watches as Ryou ambles over to Dorma with fidgety hands. 

“Are you well, son?” Larka asks. His mother seems calmer after their talk. It’s like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She shared some of her burden with him and for that he is thankful.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Much better. It was a slow day. Kolivan didn’t call my team in, so I got to relax.”

He realizes he’s right. He did get a day of relaxation. Yes, maybe he did spend most of it crying over all the questions and answers he’s accumulated in his head. But he did get some time with Shiro and then with the rest of his friends. It feels like a burden has been lifted from his own shoulders, too. He’s gotten the chance to grieve and now he wants to work.

\--

The performance is campy. Overly theatrical. But a part of him melts when he sees all those rebels and civilians with beaming smiles. With posters of Shiro’s _join the coalition today!_ smile. Civilians asking for their selfies to be taken with Lance and Allura. Boys screaming about Hunk’s _hunky_ biceps. Girls rushing up to Pidge after the show, just to get a signed autograph and an explanation on how to join the science division of the revolution. He’s happy for his family. These festivals are truly needed.

“Keith!” Matt shouts from across the raised platform.

After the show, he stands beside his mother, who is talking enthusiastically with Ryner about the blueprints for a new plasma cannon. His palms itch, feeling like he’s clinging to his mother’s skirts now that Shiro has taken Ryou back into his custody.

He heads over to Matt, meeting him halfway to the staircase. 

“What’s up?” 

Matt runs a calloused hand through his disheveled, brown hair. The glossy scar tissue on his face shines metallic from the orange sunset. He grabs Keith’s arm, leading him off the stage and down the stairs. 

“Come with me,” is all he says.

Keith furrows his brows. “What’s going on?”

“There’s just someone I want you to meet,” Matt says. “I’ve already gathered Allura and Pidge.”

“Who is it?”

“An Altean!”

“W-what?” he warbles. 

“You heard me,” Matt smiles brightly. “Ever since Tee-osh assigned me my own team, she’s been sending me out to all the rebel outposts. Meet-and-greets, sharing of intel, nonsense like that.”

“Nonsense. Sure,” Keith drawls.

“Anyways,” Matt rails on, rolling his eyes at Keith’s sarcasm. “I had to help empty out a depot. We had to maneuver a few resources to places that really needed them.”

“And?”

“And I met this rebel. Lieutenant Ozar,” he adds. 

Matt takes him through a long garden, dappled in long palm-like fronds and ivy that peeks through the cracks in the metal sidewalks. Olkarion is a mesh of metal and wood, technology and organic life melded together to create something greater than themselves. Matt tugs him down a narrow alley between two dormitory building. The path widens into an outdoor patio. 

There, sitting at a picnic bench, is Allura and a stranger. He has washed out blue skin and pointy ears. A brilliant white beard crawls up his face to reach beneath the gray cap he wears upon his head. His Altean markings, strange and jagged, are a dull gray color. A scar bisects his face, starting from between his bushy eyebrows and running diagonally down his left cheek. 

“Lieutenant Ozar!” Matt calls out. “Lieutenant Ozar! This is Keith, the son of Princess Larka.”

Ozar swipes off his hat, places it on his chest, and bows at the waist. “It’s a pleasure.”

“He is also my cousin,” Allura says with a smile on her face. 

“Technically we’re first cousins once removed,” Keith adds.

“What?” Allura’s face drops. “Please don’t tell me you’re getting technical, too.”

“He’s not wrong,” Matt says, matter-of-factly. “Your grandparents are Keith’s great-grandparents, hence a generation removed. Now, you and Larka, you guys are first cousins.”

“Alright, alright,” Keith says, turning his attention back to Ozar. “Please don’t bow. All of this makes me uncomfortable to be honest.”

“Oh!” Ozar exclaims while straightening back up. “I apologize. Old habits…”

“Old habits?” Keith prods.

“I grew up as a citizen of the Empire,” Ozar clarifies. 

Keith raises an eyebrow, looking over at Matt. “You said he was Altean.”

“He is,” Allura huffs, patting the seat beside her. “Just sit down, Keith.”

“Where’s Pidge?” Matt asks, taking the spot beside Ozar as the older man settles down into his own seat. 

“She said that—”

“She said that she’d be right here!” Pidge calls out as she races down the narrow alley and scampers into the patio. “Sorry I’m late! Girls, so many girls!”

Pidge collapses into the seat beside Keith. He’s wedged between Allura and Pidge, already feeling the crawling sensation that this may very well be a trap. 

“What’d I miss?” Pidge asks unprompted. 

“Lieutenant Ozar was just telling us that he grew up as a citizen of the Galra Empire,” Allura says. 

Narrowing his eyes, Keith gives Ozar an appraising look. He’s got to be more trusting of people, but everything up to this point as told him to doubt everyone. 

“How is that?” Keith inquires. “Were you a druid?” 

Ozar lets out a deep laugh, hearty and table-shaking. 

“Keith, this isn’t an interrogation,” Allura sighs. 

“I’m just asking a simple question,” he remarks drily. 

“It’s alright, Princess,” Ozar says, “no harm done. I’ve heard that Blades were cagey. And I’m sure working behind the scenes has shaped that environment.”

Keith doesn’t know whether to feel insulted or—

“My parents were druids,” Ozar corrects. “I wasn’t born on Altea, and neither were they. By Willow, I don’t even think my grandparents were born on Altea.” The rebel shakes his head, as if reminiscing a dark era that he’d rather not revisit. “My parents escaped deca-phoebs after I was born. For the most part, I grew up within the Empire, but it is the refugees and rebels that are my true family.”

“Wait,” Keith waves his hand. “What do mean by _escaped_?” 

Ozar clears his throat. “Well, you see, there were some Alteans who ended up rejecting the teachings of the druids’ order. They were repulsed by the druidic sciences. They searched for something that would have adhered to their Altean heritage.”

“Alchemy,” Pidge breathes. 

Ozar nods. “It was a gamble, but those who managed to get away from High Priestess Haggar… well, they started fresh. They were able to start families, start rebellions, look for other ways to live and survive in this ongoing struggle.”

“And your parents managed to get away?” Allura asked. 

Ozar nods again. “They told me stories about when they were younger, being trained by wizened dark magicians. There were always attempts by other young ones, but many of them failed. And as I said: it was truly a gamble to attempt an escape from the Empire.” 

Keith can imagine. His mother had paid the price. Give him up and salvage what she could of the Blades. 

“There’s always a price,” Keith muses aloud.

“That there is, young Prince,” Ozar replies. “When I was born, my parents made sure I learned how to shapeshift. They made sure that we were hidden even amongst the other rebels. It’s something that’s weighed heavily on me. But now that I know that there are Alteans – full-blooded and hybrids – out there in the highest ranks of this war… it means we can come out of hiding.”

“ _We_? You mean there are more of you? Of us?” Allura asks, perplexed.

“There are whole pockets of Alteans hidden away amongst other races from colonies that Zarkon could not control with his druids,” Ozar explains. “Not only is Voltron gaining traction, but the rebels are as well. The Blade of Marmora is out in the open, no longer working in the shadows, but striking hot at the bases controlled by oppressors. Many of the Alteans think that the Blade of Marmora is a Galra political faction opposing Zarkon’s regime and Lotor’s claim… although Lotor’s position within the Empire seems to be dwindling.”

Keith shakes his head. “That is not what the Blades are. We aren’t some political party. We’re… we’re revolutionaries. We’re a rebel faction.”

“I don’t doubt that, young Prince,” Ozar smiles. “But it gives hope that the Galra can change… with a different power structure that is. Altea was once Daibazaal’s ally. By Willow, that can happen again.”

Keith purses his lips. “You should speak about this to Kolivan or my mother.”

“Keith,” Matt interjects. “You’re a Blade now, right? You represent them within the coalition. You were a paladin. Hell, you’ve piloted two Lions before starting Marmora training. You’ve worked to free worlds before you had even joined the Blades. You are their representative when it comes to these things.”

“Kolivan is our leader,” Keith asserts. 

“I understand,” Ozar says. “But know this: if your mother wishes to make her claim for the Galran throne, she has the support of free Alteans. There are more of us than Zarkon thinks.”

Keith’s eyes widen, his hands balling into fists. Do they want to install his mother as some sort of proxy empress?

“Is this why you want her to come back?” Keith asks, turning to Allura. “So, that she can become a public figure again?”

Allura winces. Keith loves Allura, but he knows how calculating and resolute she can be. She and Kolivan are two sides of the same coin. Anything for the mission. 

“Zarkon needs to know that she still draws breath,” Allura explains quietly. “He needs to know that she still has power and that she can wield it. The Galra have other options than his madness. And that way we can dismantle his machinations from the inside. Permanent systemic change in the favor of all sentient lifeforms. If the Galra Empire falls into collapse like it did when he was briefly incapacitated, what would happen if he was permanently removed? The ramifications would reverberate through every territory and colony that Zarkon owns.”

“So, you’re saying,” Pidge starts, “that if something were to happen to Zarkon again, it won’t just be his commanders and druids and Lotor scrambling to claim the throne. But it would be the whole known universe. The Galra control so much it would be anarchy without his rule.”

“Yes,” Matt concludes. “Not only do we need to cut off the head of the snake, but we need to provide resources and protection for those we free without the exploitation that Zarkon likes to dabble in.”

\--

They leave at night, even though the sun remains in its setting position. The Blades tag along, awaiting to be dropped off on Gal, but Coran makes the decision that they will stay the night. Tonight, the Castleship will take an easy stroll through the void. 

They set up their party in the lounge once more, pigging out on fluuto beans, milkshakes, and more of that flowery fragrant drink that makes Keith’s head swim. He can’t wrap his head around what Allura, Matt, and Ozar were saying or planning. And for some reason, he believes that Pidge didn’t have any idea about that surprise discussion either. She hasn’t been fuming, but she seems irate when Matt pours her a fresh drink and she shovels some more crunchy beans into her mouth.

Lance is yanking the frequency controller out of Ryou’s hand, only for it to be viciously yanked away by Pidge. No one wants to even tackle whatever is stewing inside of her. Not even Ryou with his narrowed eyes and smug expression. Better to give her space to cool down. 

She clicks through stations, flipping and flipping before settling on some random sports entertainment frequency. Her eyes glaze over in sheer boredom. A shrill beeping sound comes over the audio and an emergency error blinks fast.

“Not again,” Ulaz grumbles.

The screen pixelates before a news studio with a reptilian-looking reporter streams through. 

“We have just received word from Central Command that, three vargas ago, Military personnel were spotted attacking mobile bases in the Trox-lyte system. We have reason to believe that they were attacking enemies of the Empire. No news yet on whether or not they were rebels…” the reporter’s voice trails off as Lance grabs back the remote and lowers the volume.

“Do you think it was Lotor?” Lance asks immediately. 

No one is expecting Ryou to answer. 

“They _were_ attacking Lotor.” 

“What are you talking about?” Shiro asks, leaning forward. 

Ryou lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Lotor has a few bases where he calls home. But there are about six that he uses regularly. The Deadzone, which was recently attacked by Zarkon’s military several phoebs ago. Thankfully, we were able to retrieve Princess Larka and Prince Kythel before their untimely doom.”

“Ryou,” Shiro murmurs. 

“Then there is the Trox-lyte system where a mobile base seems to now be under attack. The Ngar rally point is a smaller base within that area. Those mobile bases are mostly used for construction.”

“Ngar?” Matt repeats. “That’s one of the sites I was forced to work in when I was enslaved.”

“No doubt about that,” Ryou chuckles. “And then there are the three Kuron Bases. I know for a fact that Haggar is aware of two of them, so she will eventually have them attacked sooner or later. Especially once she realizes that Lotor has been using them.”

“And the third?” Larka asks. 

“As far as I know,” Ryou smirks, “Haggar is not aware of Base Kuron-3. However, Lotor did use the third base most often when he wasn’t aboard one of his ships, the Deadzone, or his mobile bases.”

“When were you going to tell us about this?” Hunk grits his teeth. 

“Well, you didn’t ask,” Ryou replies. 

More than half the people in the lounge groan aloud. Keith shakes his head in exasperation.

“Whatever the outcome,” Shiro says, trying to diffuse the tension, “we still don’t know everything about the enemy.”

“I’m sure Base Kuron-3 has been decommissioned and destroyed by Solthro already, especially to get Haggar off his tail,” Ryou comments.

“What’s the decommission process?” Lance asks.

“Purging the base entirely: getting rid of any ongoing experiments but keeping the paper work so it can be replicated at a safer location,” Ryou says, “then an explosion.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith sees Pidge rise from her seat, staring down at Ryou. Her fury is fuming and tangible, oppressively tense. 

“Who is _Solthro_?” Pidge asks.

A slow smirk coils up Ryou’s face. Keith knows the answer before the clone even says it.

“Your dad,” Ryou drawls, “obviously.”

There is a noticeable tremor in Pidge’s hands and Keith’s breath catches in his throat. He knows this, a revelation, something that burns at your insides. He wants to be there for Pidge, just like she was there for him. Holding him through the most transformative time of his life. 

Pidge licks her dry, chapped lips before turning on her feet and rushing from the lounge. The room is silent; the laughter that was there mere moments ago is gone. 

“What is your problem?” Lance shouts.

“Why the hell are you like this?” Matt stands up. Shiro shoots up just in time to catch Matt before he hits Ryou in the jaw. 

“I’ll go check on her,” Larka says, softly, rising from her spot beside Thace.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Allura asks, frowning.

“I’ll go alone. Evil fathers and all that,” she sighs, waving her hand before disappearing out the door. 

Keith’s hands shake. He’s so angry with Ryou, almost tempted to take the punch for Matt. “You’re more abrasive than I am.”

“It’s good that you know your faults,” Ryou scowls. 

Dorma and Ulaz throw fistfuls of fluuto beans at Ryou out of retaliation, the food scattering across the room and creating a minefield.

Hunk slumps tiredly down into his seat. “Leave it to clone boy to make a perfectly good day end badly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Season five was a wild ride! All those family reunions were amazing! Prayer circle in hopes that we get more Keith next season!


	6. Maelstrom at Dawn

A torrential rain storm hails down on Gal’s capitol city-state for five quintants. Slices of red lightning strikes down, tangling around the tops of dark skyscrapers. Keith only wanders around to leave the house and head to the gymnasium. It’s too dangerous for anything else. It seems like everything has been at a standstill and this storm is the catalyst to many new changes. It’s on the second day of the storm when lightning strikes down on one of the land satellites, knocking out communication and flinging shrapnel into the air. 

“It’s the price of us moving down to a planet rather than staying on a space station,” Regris had said before they prepared a cadet to begin her Trials of Marmora. “We won’t be able to do much until the storm passes or dissipates.”

“So, it’s better to fight acolytes and train them? I want to go out in the field though,” Umaala had complained.

Keith felt the same way. The bizarre weather only makes him grow antsy. There were days like this back on Earth: trapped in a sunbaked desert, surrounded by burrowing creatures and croaking insects. Then a subsequent rain storm that would slosh over everything and everyone. 

Just like those times before, he tries to busy his hands. He helps rebuild the chunk of the communication building that washed away and reorganizes some of the equipment that got battered during the storm. All while more rain pours out of the sky, like some great flood sent by Zarkon himself. A punishment against them for taking such a crucial rock from the great emperor’s regime. 

On the third quintant of the storm, the power goes out in their neighborhood. Thace leaves in the middle of the night to help turn on the auxiliary controls that power most of the city. He doesn’t return until midday with cracked and calloused fingers, chipped claws, and a bruise across his temple. 

“Quiznaking turbines,” he groans when Larka presses an ice pack to his head. 

“Sit this one out, my love,” she says as she cleans his hands with antiseptic solution. 

Keith is just grateful they’re getting along again.

The storm allows the Blades to plan, to start actual discussions with fellow agents without outside distraction or interference. Kolivan prattles on endlessly about the strategies he wishes to implement as soon as possible. “I’ve been planning on calling all Blades in the field back to headquarters,” he says on the fifth quintant. The rain drenches the ground outside the tinted window. Opaque clouds swirl around signaling some end to the thunder and lightning. “There are still several Blades locked within Imperial territory.”

“Do we have the resources to get them out?” Antok asks, leaning back in his seat as his tail lazily skims across the floor. 

“Not exactly,” Hazar replies, skimming through his datapad. “Ever since we took back Gal, we’ve been creating our own version of Central Command. Concentrating our units in one location means that we don’t have many on the outskirts to provide help to those in Imperial territories.”

“Are they in harm’s way?” Dorma inquires, a delicate brow lifted in question. “Can they maintain their cover for a while longer?”

Keith chews on his lower lip. It’s strange. Ever since he formally joined the Blade of Marmora, their attitudes have changed. Of course, a Blade occasionally goes missing, never to be heard from again; and they are remembered in the Record for their bravery and sacrifice. But it’s almost as if his fellow Blades are paying more attention to their teammates while on missions. They are always there to provide backup when needed and are unwilling to leave their friends behind just because of one mistake. It is how he operates with Regris and Umaala. 

Regris is tenacious and headstrong, reluctant to leave a mission just because of a small mishap. He has Keith’s back when it comes to swooping in to save the day and he’s always prepared to find a back exit. Even if he must leave his team for a moment, he’ll come back for them. Umaala is just as stubborn and reminds Keith of Pidge’s relentlessness. Umaala is always willing to take a punch for someone else, as long as they return home with just bruises and lacerations. Death cannot be healed, but those scrapes can be.

These attitudes, of strengthening camaraderie, must be bleeding through to the other Blades. This clandestine organization isn’t some heartless, jaded group of Galra rebels. Ulaz and his mother are mere examples of Blades who instinctively act with their heart rather than their brain. Antok, Hazar, and Dorma are proving that they’re all changing. The Blade of Marmora is molding to what it means to be a part of a coalition. Open affection and solidarity.

“They’ll have to hold out a little longer,” Kolivan comments. “Long enough to create a channel into the closest Galra-owned quadrant. We can start siphoning out people then, attack what work camps are there.”

“Voltron will want to aid in that effort,” Larka interjects. “If there’s a path into a Galra-owned quadrant, there are slaves they’ll want to free.”

“Voltron is probably a mythological deity to them,” Dorma adds. “It will boost morale if the paladins are the ones who will save them.”

Kolivan nods in agreement. “Then it’s settled. We’ll move forward in taking this next territory. We’ve been sitting at a standstill. Despite the intel we’ve been gathering on Lotor’s whereabouts and the information that Ryou has provided, we still don’t know what he’s up to. He’s like an apparition, there one moment and gone the next.”

Keith shares a silent, knowing look with his mother.

“He also has his hands full with Zarkon hunting after him,” Thace comments. “He has to be exhausted after all of this.” 

“There is no doubt,” Kolivan says, “that there is only so much that the boy can take. For now, we should encroach on Zarkon’s territory while he’s distracted with—”

A dull beeping sounds off at the console behind Kolivan. Someone is hailing them. Kolivan stands and turns to answer the call. He tabs open the holo-screen. A masked Blade is on the other side of the video, his voice gritty through the audio.

“Leader,” the Blade greets. “It’s Lady Pidge. She says it’s an emergency. Can I patch her frequency through?”

Keith’s mouth runs dry and his hands grip the arms of his chair. _An emergency?_

“What sort of emergency?” Keith asks aloud. 

“Send her through,” Kolivan orders, not even looking back at Keith. 

The masked Blade nods and the screen pixelates once before Pidge’s visual comes through. Coran stands behind her, frantically tapping away at his own console. Behind them, Lance rushes onto the bridge, shrugging off his jacket and flinging it in the direction of his seat before heading to his right exit elevator that will take him to the Red Lion. 

Although Lance wasn’t wearing his paladin armor, Pidge already is. And she doesn’t waste time on any small talk or greetings.

“Tee-osh’s main base of operations has taken a hit and many of the encampments have been destroyed. They’re attempting to evacuate, but they’re under heavy fire. We’re going to extract them and take as much equipment with us as possible. They need sanctuary. Do we have your permission to move the rebels to Gal?” 

Kolivan does not hesitate. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks, Kolivan,” Pidge says and then the screen goes dark. 

“Zarkon seems to still have the mind to attack rebels even through he’s focused on Lotor,” Antok frowns.

“We will find out who was behind the attack once Rebel Leader Tee-osh arrives with her people. Larka and Kythel, greet our new neighbors when they arrive. We’ll have another summit after they get settled,” Kolivan says, tersely. “Meeting adjourned.”

“Hopefully the storm is cleared away before they arrive,” Thace murmurs as he ushers Larka and Keith from the meeting hall. The young Blade can only agree.

\--

The Castle of Lions, glimmering and white, touches down on its resident landing pad. It’s three vargas later and the sky is a hazy gray. The nearest star is just beginning to peek through the dwindling clouds. The ground is saturated after all those rainy days and everything that wasn’t bolted down is strewn around like debris. 

“Holy crow! What happened here?” Lance asks the moment he spots Keith. Shiro walks to his right, thumbing through a datapad. 

“Who knew Gal had a rainy season…” Keith trails off. 

“I did,” Larka mutters sarcastically. “Lance, where are the others?” 

“Some of the wounded needed sleep pods,” he answers.

Shiro passes the datapad to Larka. “There are some people who need more medical attention, so if you can get some of yours to help transfer the others to the hospital, that would be great.”

“What’s that?” Keith asks, snatching the datapad out from his mother’s hand. 

Before Larka can yank the tablet back or Shiro can answer, Tee-osh walks over with Hunk. “We did a brief inventory of all we could bring with us. Supplies, perishable goods, some fuel, and GAC.” 

Tee-osh looks like she’s been through hell. Her exposed skin is covered in abrasions and there is a jagged cut down the left side of her face. The bleeding has been staunched, yet the dark green bruising is swelling. There’s a limp in her gait that she attempts to mask with shorter steps, but her wincing gives it away. 

“Tee-osh,” his mother warmly greets the woman, clasping arms before pulling each other into an embrace.

“Princess, I apologize for the intrusion,” Tee-osh grimaces. 

“It’s just Larka,” she reminds, withdrawing, “and there is no intrusion. Gal is your home for as long as you and your people need it.” For the next few doboshes, Larka tries to persuade Tee-osh to come with her to the clinic, but the rebel remarks that she is fine before nearly collapsing in exhaustion. Without much of a fight, Larka finally escorts Tee-osh to the clinic. 

“She’d be good for the Empire,” Hunk says, unexpectedly. 

Keith furrows his eyebrows, appraising the three of them with suspicion. Realization dawns on him like the sudden strike of lightning and crack of thunder. Lance launches himself into Shiro’s outstretched arms, leaving the black paladin to idly shake his head. A splash of rain hits Keith on his cheek, and he looks up at the sky.

“Not you, too,” Keith sighs.

“Yeah, Allura told us,” Lance confesses after Shiro drops him in a graceful heap. “Take back the Empire, put your mom on the seat, stabilize the universe. No more Zarkon and no more Lotor.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Hunk adds.

“The Galra Empire will continue to fight among itself, as long as the potential leadership is like Zarkon. We all know how vicious his commanders and generals are,” Shiro explains, crossing his arms against his chest. “No one wants that for the known universe. Your mother is a better alternative.”

All three of them make logical points and even he wanted to get rid of all those commanders like Throk, but Keith doesn’t want to think about it right now. A selfish, childish part of him doesn’t want to because he would have to share his mother with millions and billions of people. He hasn’t had her for most of his life, and he just wants her all to himself… if only for a little while. But there’s a protective and defensive part of him that disagrees for an entirely different reason. If his mother makes a claim for Zarkon’s seat, she will have a target on her back. He can’t have that.

“Your mom is compassionate and understanding, especially focused on the needs of others,” Shiro continues. “When was there a leader like that in the Galra ranks?”

“Probably _never,_ ” Hunk drawls, “and I’m sure there are people out there growing tired of Zarkon’s reign.”

“Just let Allura approach her about this,” Keith bemoans. “It’s her plan, right? It’s a long way off and we’re still just fighting for territory.”

Shiro gets closer, their foreheads almost touching. He presses a hand to Keith’s shoulder. “Okay, we’ll let Allura handle it, but just try talking to your mom about it. Please?” 

Keith nods, stewing internally at the prospect of these new Alteans and Imperial Galrans wanting fresh leadership within the Empire.

Before the warm rain can pour down on them, the four of them race back up the landing ramp to the Castleship. The skies are opening again with another drenching storm. Keith stays with them, eating lunch in the pristine kitchen instead of the overly large dining hall. It’s cozier and less formal. There’s more of an atmosphere to goof off in, even with brooding Ryou shoveling food goo in his mouth and Pidge's annoyed glares. 

Kolivan calls a meeting during a break in the storm. Everything is a flutter as Gal civilians help wounded rebels to the hospital. The paladins, Coran, Matt, and Ryou follow Keith down the winding path to the meeting hall. The skies are still a dull gray, but there is a promise for sunshine. 

Even though it is Kolivan who calls the summit, it is Larka who immediately takes command of it. 

“Tee-osh has decided to move her base of operations here, on Gal,” Larka says. A slim datapad is tightly held in her grip. Narti’s tablet. “She doesn’t know for how long, but once she comes out of the sleep pod and is ready to discuss long-term goals, we’ll have some civilian volunteers help build a new encampment for them. She doesn’t want all her troops in the city, so we’ll have to build these encampments at outposts.”

“And they’ll provide back up if we’re invaded by Zarkon’s fleet too, right?” Pidge asks, fidgeting in her seat. She’s been restless, so uneasy, ever since Ryou threw that slight in her face. 

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Kolivan says. It almost seems like he’s ready to move onto something else, but Larka places the datapad down and links it to the main console in the center of the table. A blue and green spherical hologram projects into the space above the console, the projection slowly rotating.

“Is that Earth?” Lance asks, flummoxed. 

Larka nods. 

“Before you all rescued Kythel and I at the Deadzone,” Larka starts, “we were being watched over by Narti, one of Lotor’s generals. Lotor and Narti had just returned after attending a meeting with Zarkon. Just moments before the skirmish started, she told us that not only was she the one who left us this datapad with instructions to see Haggar’s cloning facility, but she mentioned that she was charged with watching my movements and Kythel’s… as well as Lotor’s because of some event. Something had occurred on this planet,” she points at the hologram, “something called the Earth experiment.”

“You mentioned this at the Record,” Antok interjects, “so what else do—”

“I have reason to believe that the same druids who were overseeing the cloning project and Lotor’s project, are the same faction of druids who are overseeing the experiment on Earth,” Larka continues, tabbing through the datapad. More holograms are projected near the revolving Earth, schematics and diagrams of other bases.

Keith takes a deep breath, “When we questioned Narti about the Earth experiment, she had mentioned that there were druids who knew I was on Earth the whole time. When we questioned her further on the whereabouts of Mick Kogane, my human father who raised me, she clammed up. She said she didn’t know much about it. Mick Kogane disappeared from my life. Everyone said he was dead, but—”

“I had been in contact with Mick throughout Kythel’s childhood,” Larka admits. “And—”

“What did you say?” Kolivan asks, gritting his teeth. 

Antok hesitantly stands from his seat, warily looking back and forth between Larka and Kolivan.

“ _And_ ,” Larka presses on, “Mick had been researching something dubious at the Galaxy Garrison.”

“I told you Iverson was way too calm about us riding into the sunset in a robot lion!” Pidge pumps her fist into the air as if she’s just won some grand prize. “In your face, Hunk!” 

“I told you, I already believed you, Pidge,” he says, rubbing his temples to keep an oncoming headache at bay.

“That was a reckless idea, Larka,” Kolivan says, jaw twitching. “Too reckless for even you. You involved a human in some hypothetical plot—”

“The humans are already involved,” Larka says, slamming her hands against the table. “They’ve been involved when the Galra invaded them without our knowledge. Half the paladins of Voltron are human!”

“Should we leave?” Lance squeaks. 

“No,” Larka shouts just as Kolivan grits out a gravelly: “Yes.”

“Narti stated that she was not at liberty to discuss what happened to my dad. It was like she knew something and couldn’t tell us.” Both Kolivan and Larka are emotional in this moment, and Keith attempts to address the real problem. “She said that the druids who were overseeing Lotor’s project are upset with how distracted he is. He must have not been following through with what they wanted.”

“Which is?” Shiro asks curiously. 

“I don’t know that much,” Keith sighs. “He seems to have multiple goals.”

“I’ve gone over all of the research,” Larka says. “The intel gathered at the Deadzone. All the pieces we’ve been tossed during Voltron’s raids on Galra-occupied planets and our work infiltrating depots by following Lotor’s supply line. Even the samples that Kythel, Regris, and Umaala brought back were invaluable to my research. Lotor may be trying to travel between realities, he may be trying to create and find a renewable form of quintessence, and he may be trying to provide the whole universe with a clean energy source. These are all my hypotheses, but one thing I know for sure is that the druids are harvesting humans. They are trying to create a perfect soldier. Whether that’s by cloning or quintessence exposure experimentation. They found the perfect species… Earthlings. How it connects to Lotor, well, I still need to work on that.”

Kolivan all but tosses his arms into the air.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the research you’ve gathered?” Kolivan asks as he furrows his brows together. “Why didn’t you properly explain to me what Lotor’s general had said to you at the beginning of your Record hearing?”

“I didn’t want to divulge the entirety of my theory until I fully knew!” Larka remarks.

“This is what you’ve been doing,” Allura says, quietly. Her eyes are wide. “This is what you’ve been doing while you’re locked up in your laboratory.”

“And I assume that this is why you want to send a team down to Earth?” Kolivan asks.

“Wait a minute!” Lance exclaims. “You want to go to Earth?”

“I want to be able to test if my theory is correct,” Larka says, looking at the paladins and then back to Kolivan. “If my theory is correct, that means Mick Kogane died because he found something out. Before he died he told me to trust Shiro’s father… and then Ryou Shirogane mysteriously gets sick. Kolivan, allow me to see what experiments they’re coming up with on Earth. They’re using clones and highly evolved soldiers to infiltrate our own ranks. They’re using people like Shiro and Ryou as weapons.”

“This is reckless,” Kolivan repeats. “Marmora forces are already spread thin. We must target the next quadrant of space, not retrace our previous steps.” His gaze cuts over to Antok. “You should have kept a sharper eye on her while you were both on Earth.”

Before Antok can gather a fumbling apology, Pidge stands up. Her chair tumbles down behind her. “I want to be on that team! The one you’re taking to Earth!”

“So do I,” Keith adds, standing up beside Pidge. “We need to know how corrupted Earth is and how best to deal with it. Mom’s not asking to take on these druids in some brawl. Just a routine intel gathering mission, complete with a bit of espionage and sabotage.”

“Completely routine,” Pidge adds to convince them all. 

Thace leans forward in his seat, looking over at his leader critically. “Kolivan, we need to understand why these druids are helping Lotor. We need to find out why they’ve extended their reach to Earth so far from Galra territory.”

“It does call into question their loyalty to Lotor and Zarkon,” Coran adds. “Why work that far away on some super soldier program? Not to mention this will give Pidge and Matt some understanding of their father’s motivations. This will be an enlightening mission.”

Kolivan turns back to Larka’s pleading face. 

“You will take a team with you,” he relents. “Knowledge or death.”

Larka’s face brightens and she breathes a sigh of relief. 

“But Larka,” he interrupts her and Pidge’s sudden excitement, “I want to know who exactly is on this mission. I want a complete report sent to the Record when you return. And I want no more secrets between the two of us.”

“Of course,” she nods. 

“Wait,” Allura says. “I’m not agreeing with this yet.”

“Allura,” Pidge turns to the Altean princess. “Please, we need to do this.”

“I’m not denying that, but if Larka wants to do it, I want her to attend the closing coalition festival before you leave.”

For a brief moment, there’s tension in the meeting hall before Larka cracks a smile and Allura returns it.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Larka says, “but I want you on my team, too. I need people at least familiar with alchemy. It’s going to take more than just acrobatics and brute strength when we go up against these druids.”


	7. Blossoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added more tags. I wanted to make sure readers know that there is some body (and slight gender) dysphoria-ish stuff and menstruation talk in this chapter... because you know, just more Galra biology exploration.

“We’ve got hostiles on the north side of the prison.” Shiro’s deep voice crackles through the interference of the communication link. “We still need to evacuate the main facility. You think the three of you can handle it?”

“Copy that, sir,” Keith replies with an arm outstretched to prevent Umaala from rushing in.

“I count three sentries near the north gate,” Regris says from his perch on the landing above.

“We can take them,” Umaala hisses between tightly clenched teeth. 

“Wait for Matt to finish hacking into the security system,” Keith says.

“I count ten soldiers just on the first floor of the north wing alone,” Regris adds, pulling his equipment from the console and sliding down to reach Keith and Umaala.

“We can take them,” Umaala repeats, anxious and ready for a fight.

“Wait for Matt’s signal,” Keith chuffs. “I don’t want them calling in reinforcements.”

Lance chuckles on the other side off the comm link. “Since when are you so observant?” he jokes.

Keith shakes his head. “Focus on your part of the mission.”

Another bout of laughter trickles in his ear. Half a tick later, the sentries’ purple visors flicker out. They collapse to the ground in a heap of rubbish and the main gate slowly opens. 

“Is that a big enough signal, Keith?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. Thanks, buddy.”

“Pidge,” Allura says. “Send the schematics to the Marmora team.” 

“No worries, Allura,” Keith remarks. “Ryou sent them to us before we landed.”

Allura goes silent, but Keith can still hear her angry heavy breathing. 

“Seems like I have my uses, Princess,” Ryou says, sarcastically. Even though he’s on the bridge of the Castleship hovering in orbit, Ryou still manages to get under everyone’s skin.

“Not helping,” Coran groans.

Keith shakes his head again before motioning Umaala to take point. She does, rushing forward and heading to the open north gate.

Zerarax is a planet that’s been occupied by the Galra for four centuries. Used as a labor camp and manufacturing facility, anyone who does not fall into line ends up in the northern isolation sector of the prison. Those who are incarcerated for life never see the light of day. It’s even rumored that the druids use them for their experiments. 

Barbarism is not only used as a tactic by the military faction of Zarkon’s empire. The druid faction uses it well.

Zerarax also happens to be the last known location of Lotor's generals.

“Umaala, head to the laboratories,” Keith orders. “Clear out any prisoners and send them to the north gate. Then set the labs to blow.”

“Understood,” she says, heading up a ramp to the second floor that houses the laboratories.

“I’ll head to the guard tower and open the cells remotely,” Regris hisses

“I’ll cover you,” Keith replies, drawing his blade from the sheath at the small of his back. “I’ll clear out the guards here.”

Two of them are already waiting with plasma rifles raised. Keith’s weapon burns hot as he activates it. He takes the first swipe at the guard to his right. His blade hits the soldier just below his sternum with a wet squelch. The Galra buckles over, rifle shooting haphazardly at the floor. His companion is not able to fend of Keith’s second attack when the blade swoops over and lops off his long arms at the elbows. At the corner of his vision, Regris streaks past, wielding his own blade and striking a soldier entering the vestibule. 

Three down. 

Keith scrunches his nose in disgust as he watches the purplish-red blood sluice down his blade. With the flick of his wrist, Keith splatters the wall with the tacky fluid. There’s no point in cleaning his weapon now, but the sour smell of corrupted blood is too strong. 

Regris climbs the ladder to their right that leads to the guard tower. 

“Kythel, I’m reading two guards in the tower,” Regris says. “I’ll handle it.” 

Keith narrows his eyes, his upper lip curling.

 _Something doesn’t feel right,_ Keith thinks as he enters the main isolation sector. It’s a long corridor with gray walls and silver doors leading to prisoner pods. There are no identification pads for manual release, but Keith has no doubt that Regris will be able to take the two guards out and disable the doors' locking mechanisms.

That isn’t what he’s worried about. 

“Where are the five other guards?” Keith asks, more to himself than any of the other people linked to his communication audio. 

A sudden tremor goes through the floor, cracking the metal below his feet. The sub-lights flicker out before the auxiliary power activates. Just like the front gate, the cell doors slowly slide open. Keith’s breath hitches as he peers into the first two cells. 

The explosion happens before he can reach the vestibule. His body slams into the floor as he’s blown backwards. His head hits the ground, teeth gnashing together. A flash of light startles him before he can regain his senses. Blood collects in the back of his throat and he struggles to get back on his feet. Instinctively, he slides backwards against the floor, favoring his right side. His blade rests helplessly near the crumbling ladder.

“Regr—” Keith tries to speak, grabbing for the blade. He tries to lift himself up with the help of the armless soldier. He coughs into the fist curled around his weapon. His blurry vision begins to clear. Clouds of debris and chunks of shrapnel are scattered across the broken, collapsing floor. Rustling fabric billows in the background. A slight figure glides through the smoke and hushed whispers ooze through his mind. Another quake shudders through the building.

Fear and doubt washes over him. He’s had this feeling before. The first time was at Galra transportation hub. 

A decoy. Is this place a decoy? 

“Regris!” Keith shouts, checking his body for any shrapnel that could have hit him. He breathes a sigh of relief. The fabric is growing closer, a swath of dark brown, almost black. A strange white bird-like mask. 

The sound of heavy boots clunking on the ground startles him. A large hand grabs at his shoulder, hoisting his body up and over. 

“I have you, Kythel.” Regris’ calming voice is welcoming despite the terror gripping his chest. 

“Are you okay?” Keith asks, his hand still holding tightly to his blade.

“Yes,” Regris replies. “I was in the guard tower when the explosion occurred. It is reinforced.”

Keith lets out another sigh of relief. “I don’t think my comm link is working.”

“Do not worry,” Regris chuffs. “I got in contact with Umaala. She is with Hunk loading in some prisoners from the labratories.”

Keith wants to ask what the hell happened. He wants to know if they were set up or if it was just some accident. It was silly of him to think that freeing a Galra-occupied planet would be easy. 

“There weren’t any prisoners here,” Keith says. It’s not a question, but he still wants to hear Regris’ voice over the chaotic whispers drowning out everything else.

Regris doesn’t reply.

\--

_“Well, that was a bad move,” Lotor says, leaning back in his seat. His long white hair is coiled at the crown of his head in a tight knot. A smirk teases at his lips._

_He frowns. “Huh?”_

_Lotor looks at him curiously, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Did you hit your head too hard?” His asks, grin slipping from his face. “You publicly challenged the Champion... it was stupid.”_

_Keith rises from his cushioned chair. He looks down at the metal seat with its tall back and ornate arms and deep crimson pillow. He would have never been able to afford something like this back on Earth._

_“Earth?”_

_“Yeah…” Lotor looks up at him like Keith’s the one who has lost his mind. “Earth… where the Champion comes from.” Lotor regards him with a sharp eye. “I would have never thought you – of all people – would fancy one of them. I’m surprised your mother allowed you to continue with this courtship. But then again, she doesn’t follow the rules.”_

_“Takashi?”_

_“I suppose that’s his name,” Lotor shrugs. “The older Shirogane brother. Conquering Earth has its perks.”_

_Keith’s blood runs cold in shock. Despite that, the air in the room is stuffy and overly warm. A strange thought of Zarkon strikes through his mind like a bolt of lightning. His grandfather was from the desert region on Daibazaal. Is it a surprise that Keith would enjoy warm weather and sinking his feet into the sand?_

_“Where are we?” Keith asks, suddenly._

_Lotor stands from his own plush seat. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the infirmary? Your father is off duty, I could—”_

_“My father?”_

_“Commander Thace,” Lotor clarifies. “He’s on-planet right now. Didn’t you see him this morning before we left?”_

_Keith tries to breathe. Where is he? His vision blurs once before clearing. He almost jumps back, squealing like a child. Lotor is wearing the pristine blue paladin armor. But where there should be white, there is black._

_“Where’s Allura? Where’s Lance?”_

_“Who is Lance?” Lotor asks._

_“He’s Allura’s pleasure slave,” says a voice behind Keith. “I’m surprised you know what his name is. But if you’re always hanging around the gladiator barracks, then it would only be logical that you know their names, Prince Kythel.”_

_Keith’s mouth falls agape when he sees Pidge smiling back at him. But it’s not the Pidge he remembers from that morning. This one has smooth washed-out purple skin, pointy Altean ears, and rosy-colored markings beneath her dark gold eyes. They glitter maliciously even with the friendly smile aimed at him. Her long brown hair is tied back in some Altean fashion of three loose braids. She’s wearing her paladin armor. Black and green._

_Holding his breath, Keith looks down at his own paladin armor of black and red._

_“Do you know where my mom is?” Keith asks, hands twitching nervously at his sides._

_“What?” Pidge asks. “What’s wrong with him?”_

_“I don’t know, ever since we got back from the mission he’s been like this.” Lotor answers as if Keith isn’t standing between two people who, on any other day, should be enemies. They talk like… they talk like they’re friends._

_“This isn’t real,” he mutters under his breath. “This isn’t real.”_

_Keith spins on his heel, marching past Pidge’s worried expression._

_“My Prince…” she mutters, just as he hears Lotor call out his name. “Kythel, where are you going?”_

_He doesn’t know; he realizes this as he turns down the corridor. There isn’t a familiar hum of a space vessel, so they must be on a planet. And as he nears the closest window, he sees it._

_Daibazaal. A sturdy planet in the middle of the cosmos. It’s still here like a giant sentinel of war. What is going on? Keith’s in a fortress in the capitol of Drule. A place where he could have been born. A place where he could have been raised by his parents, around people who look like him and fought like him._

_Keith lets out a sigh. He needs to find his parents or Allura. Lotor spoke of her like they were allies, too. Perhaps she’s here on Daibazaal._

_He travels through the corridors and every where he goes, the Galra – soldiers and druids alike – stop in their tracks to bow to him as he passes. His face flushes by the time he reaches some decorative doorway, spotting Matt dressed in black and yellow._

_Where the hell is Hunk? Is he with Shiro and Lance?_

_“Prince Kythel,” Matt says, placing his right arm across his chest and bowing at the waist. “I heard you weren’t feeling well. Would you like me to take you to the infirmary?”_

_There’s a strange flinty look in Matt’s dark gold eyes. It makes Keith feel uneasy._

_The Galran prince shakes his head. “No, I-I, I’m looking for my paren—” And that’s when he sees Allura dressed in some dark gossamer gown of deep indigo. Her skin is the same soft brown as before, but her eyes are like hazy yellow moons._

_“Allura? What happened to you?” Keith asks._

_Her eyebrows furrow together as she scrutinizes him. Walking closer, she loops her arm with Matt’s and smiles. “Are you sure you’re not sick? I’ll come with you, too. Just to make sure you’re safe.”_

_Keith takes a step back, staring at where their arms are connected. He shakes his head. “My mom and dad… do you know where they are?”_

_Allura cocks her head to the side. “Your mother is with Empress Honerva. I do not know where your father is.”_

_Keith leaves wet streaks across his armor as he hastily wipes his clammy palms. He nods tightly. “Thank you.”_

_He rushes past them, vaguely aware of their whispered concerns._

_“This isn’t real,” Keith repeats. “My mother hates Haggar. She would never—”_

_A pulse of pain strikes behind his eyes. A growing headache washing over him like a heavy, dark cloud._

_Again, he has no idea where he’s going and allows his legs to lead him as he hurries down the corridor. He passes Zethrid, Ezor, Acxa, Narti and then Sendak, Throk, Ulaz, Kolivan. It’s an amalgamation of Galra faces he’s met since he left Earth. Each one more striking than the last._

_Keith stops in front of another large, cathedral-like door. The Galra Empire insignia is emblazoned on it in a rich purple-red color. When he presses a hand to the emblem, his fingers come back wet with blood. The doors swing open leading to a bedroom. The warm air is stifling and oppressive. He feels like he’s wading through boiling water and dense fog. It splashes up to his waist, coating his pelvis._

_“There you are,” says a soft voice. A woman stands in front of him with brown skin and gold Altean eyes. Her pale purple-blue hair is tucked into a low chignon. Her red markings sit high on her cheekbones as she gives Keith a warm smile. “You’ve worried your mother. Serves her right for constantly worrying me so much.”_

_Keith chokes on his chuff of indignation._

_“The two of you are reckless like me,” Honerva continues. “You make people worry about you. Kythel, you are the right hand of the black paladin – your grandfather, Emperor Zarkon.”_

_Keith’s gut clenches. He wants to vomit._

_A furry body curls around his legs. “Kova,” he says without looking down. The eerie space cat lets out a soft mewl before loping over to the balcony. Sheer red curtains block out most of the breeze, but Keith can still smell the summer fire pit and fresh plums of his youth. He slowly walks towards the open doorway, pushing past the billowing curtains._

_Their backs are to him, but he feels like this is the most normal image he’s had since he arrived in this dreamscape. They aren’t wearing any dark paladin armor or the Imperial uniforms that he’s seen on everyone else. They wear their Blade of Marmora uniforms, scuffed but cleaned._

_Keith takes a few short steps forward, his small fists clutched by his sides. He can’t see over the edge of the parapet. When he speaks, his voice is soft and childish._

_“Mama, Papa,” he says, small arms reaching up. “I want to see.”_

_Larka turns first, a small smile on her face. Thace is the one who lifts him up, perching him on his hip as they look over at the setting sun. Keith feels the warmth on his cheeks and tastes the dry sand rolling in from the desert to the west._

He wakes up with a jolt, flying upright in sheer terror. 

“Babe, you okay?” Shiro is by his side, flipping the bed sheets off them. 

“Where am I?” Keith nearly cries. 

“You’re on the Castleship,” Shiro says, sitting up and smoothing back the hair from Keith’s sweaty forehead. “You were hallucinating when Regris got you to Hunk. We put you in a sleep pod, but it didn’t really help besides healing the cuts and bruises. You’re safe now. We’re in our room. Don’t worry.”

Keith can still taste the desert on his lips and he really wants to vomit now. 

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Shiro nudges him. “You’re safe.”

“What happened?”

“Umaala thinks it was a druid that did it to you,” Shiro explains. “She a had a run in with them on the second floor. There might have been one on the first, too.” 

The white mask and fluttering robes.

Keith’s belly throbs and aches. He winces, wrapping his arms around it. 

“A-are they okay? Regris and Umaala. Are they okay?”

“Keith,” Shiro mutters, staring down between his legs. He follows Shiro’s gaze and nearly cries out for the second time. 

The white sheets are covered in large dots of blood. The crotch of his boxer briefs is soaked. Keith’s cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. 

“Shiro, I’m so sor—”

“Stop that,” Shiro says before hoisting himself out of the bed and planting a kiss on Keith’s forehead. “I’m going to get Pidge. You get in the shower and rinse off. I’ll be right back.”

His boyfriend leaves quietly and Keith stares down at the soiled fabrics between his thighs. Ulaz and his mother had explained a thousand times that this could happen and each time he brushed them off as if it would never happen. Just because his genitals changed didn’t mean _this_ could happen. Right?

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters under his breath. Carefully, Keith pulls himself out of bed and rushes into the water closet. He peels out of his dirty undergarments, turns on the shower, and climbs into the stall. He rinses his underwear first, scrubbing furiously to get all the blood out before washing himself, too.

When he’s finished putting his underwear up to dry, he wraps himself in a towel and tiptoes out into the bedroom. Pidge stands by the desk rummaging through a small bag. Shiro diligently changes the sheets, after chucking the soiled ones in the hamper.

“Okay, so… don’t be mad,” Pidge starts, and Keith feels like he certainly will be upset, “but after you shapeshifted, your mom and dad made sure that I packed away some stuff for you in case of an emergency like this. Because they – like myself – knew that you wouldn’t listen.”

Keith groans. “Pidge, please. Not now.”

“It’s completely natural. Menstrual cycles and all that good stuff,” she goes on. “I went and got you these alien tampons if you want to try them out. Not my cup of tea, but Allura prefers those. So it might be better if you ask her about that. And there are pads of course, but that depends if you want to sit in your own blood.”

“Pidge…”

“Okay, okay, too graphic,” Pidge smiles, “but I also got you some cool underwear. Menstruation-friendly boxers! Get ready for the future, Keith.”

“Pidge, too much exuberance,” Keith shakes his head. “Dial it back.”

“But you don’t know how excited I was to find these at the space mall,” Pidge whines playfully. “I got myself some, so I can tell you from experience that they’re comfortable.”

Keith gestures over at Shiro.

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Shiro is the type of boyfriend who would go out and buy you tampons because he knows that this is natural for some people. Relax.” 

“I would,” Shiro says with a smile. 

“See, nothing to worry about, late bloomer.”

They’re both trying to cheer him up. But even though he’s gotten used to this Galra part of him, this _cogliarket_ gender, he still feels like this may be the reason that Shiro treats him so delicately. He almost resents this part of him and Keith wonder if Shiro resents him, too.

Pidge helps him into a new pair of boxers, tucking a pad in the panel of fabric that will cradle it, and places the bag in the bathroom.

“You should probably tell your mom,” Pidge says, cautiously. “She has more stuff to give you but, by all means, keep hiding it like it’s some dirty secret.”

“Thank you, Katie,” Keith groans, letting his head fall back as the door slides shut behind her. 

When he falls into bed, Shiro slides his hand across his belly, rubbing softly. 

“Umaala and Regris are fine by the way,” he says.

Keith nods.

“What were you dreaming about?” 

Keith clenches his jaw. 

“It was that bad, huh?”

“Planet Daibazaal was still thriving and Earth had been conquered,” Keith grimaces. “I think Thace and Larka raised me there and you were a slave and—”

Shiro stops his impending tirade with the press of his lips. The sweet and comforting kiss has Keith curling in closer.

“Listen,” Shiro says, when he pulls away. “That was a hallucination. Those druids, they’ll make you see anything to doubt yourself. It’s what they do. You are safe, our friends are safe, and that’s all that matters to me right now.”

\--

The Puigan mayor hosts the closing coalition festival on his planet. Floating and colorful lights decorate the village, hovering above and around the square domiciles. The once crumbling aqueduct has been rebuilt; courtesy of the Olkari with their strange amalgamation of science and nature. Sweet treats, brought by the small species of Arus, are shared during the Voltron performance. 

The crowds are raucous and loud, cheering the names of the paladins. The show is campy and flashy, but it’s better than the last. After the stands clear out, the streets have been set up with kiosks filled with food and games that remind him of state fairs back on Earth. And Keith won’t lie about the craving he has for something salty and slathered in grease.

“Hey!” Shiro calls out, sidling up beside Keith. “How are you feeling?” 

Their hands slip together, fingers entwined. 

“I’m fine,” Keith replies. When he had arrived back on Gal after attempting to sleep off the druid hallucination, he had visited Tolak, the Blade of Marmora’s chief medic. When he had first shapeshifted, it was Tolak who had cared for him: treating his initial symptoms and his subsequent bed rest after he had awoken to his teeth falling out and his skin flaking off and the burning sensation radiating in his pelvis and groin. “Just tired. Kolivan let me sleep in after I had _the Galran equivalent to the great menarche flood_. Pidge’s words, not mine.”

Shiro tries to hold back a chuckle, but a bark of laughter escapes past his lips.

“It’s not funny,” Keith says even though he smiles. 

“You’re right,” Shiro remarks, trying to maintain a degree of stoicism. “This is a serious conversation.”

“Thank you.” Keith squeezes Shiro’s hand. “Nice performance by the way.”

“Hopefully, this will be the last one,” Shiro comments. “Coran will be upset. He’s taken a liking to these shows. Makes me wonder what it was like with Zarkon and Alfor at the forefront.”

Keith grimaces. “I don’t want to even think about them doing their own Voltron show on ice.”

“The horror,” Shiro scoffs. “By the way, did you see where Allura and Pidge went?”

“Last time I saw them, they were wedging themselves between my mom and dad,” he says. “Probably to talk about the Earth mission.”

“I know what it’s about,” Shiro says, stopping in his tracks. 

Keith is startled when Shiro won’t move any farther. The black paladin's calloused hand tugs him back. “We did a vote. Voltron wants to come with you. I wanted Lance to be the one who talked strategies with your mom. Where should Voltron be? How we should approach Earth? It will tip off any druids if they see five lions landing anywhere nearby. Not to mention, your mother wants this to be a stealth mission and nothing with too much firepower.”

Keith raises a hand. “Wait a minute. Are you saying you want to come along, but without the Lions? It would be better if they hung back in their hangers in case we need backup.”

Shiro nods in agreement. “Yes, well, that’s something I wanted Lance to talk about with your mom. He’s a really good strategist. He’s come a long way and he’s more confident than before. I want his input for this mission.”

“But Pidge and Allura jumped the gun,” he sighs.

Again, Shiro nods. “I also wonder if we should bring Ryou… or if that would be too much of a risk. It’s an infiltration and sabotage mission, I get that. But what if we need Ryou’s insight on how this druid operation works? What if there are hostages? What happens if we’re outnumbered?”

“You’re worried about the mission,” Keith states matter-of-factly.

“How can I not?” Shiro throws his hands up in exasperation. “Everything we’ve known about our home has been a lie. They killed my dad. They killed your human father. How many other people have they killed? And what about Pidge’s mom? She’s alone on Earth with no knowledge about the whereabouts of her husband or her kids. And if the druids are a part of the Galra Empire, they must know who is related to Hunk and Lance…”

Keith presses his hands to Shiro’s shoulders. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe we’ll need Ryou, maybe we won’t. If there are hostages, we’ll free them like we always do. And whatever happens, we fight.”


	8. Stand By Me

Earth is just as they left it. A small blue pebble in the middle of the cosmos. But as Coran lands the cloaked Castleship in the desert, something feels ethereal. There’s a foggy miasma percolating in the air. It’s no longer arid and dry, the cracked Earth peeling beneath his feet. This time it’s saturated and humid and…

“Why does the air feel so thick?” Hunk whines, planting his hands on his knees to lean forward. “Did it always feel like this?”

“Could be the gravity change,” Pidge says, pacing anxiously.

“Or it could be whatever is going on down there,” Olia comments, pointing over the edge of the bluff. 

Keith walks towards the cliff. It leads to an outcropping of canyon rocks, the same ridge of rocks where they found Blue. Archeologists and other science teams have swarmed around the area like buzzing bees. A village of tents and military personnel have been gathered near an excavation site while trucks bustle in and out of the encampment. 

“Looks like they realized one of the Lions was there before,” Lance says, hands tapping anxiously at his sides. “Alright Shiro, so are we sticking to the plan?”

Shiro nods. “This changes nothing. Allura and Keith, you’re with the Blades. Remember: infiltration and sabotage. Don’t try taking them all on if it turns out to be true.” A flicker of doubt crosses over his face, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. 

“Matt and Olia,” he continues. “You’re with the rest of Voltron. We get Mrs. Holt out, drop her off with Coran and then we rendezvous with the Blades at the GG compound.” He pauses. “Coran and Ryou, you can handle this, right? If we need to evacuate, you can get us out of here?”

“It might take us a few doboshes to retrieve you all,” Coran explains, “but I’m sure we can manage on our end.”

“We should go now,” Thace says, climbing on to his speeder. “If we don’t contact Kolivan in thirty-six vargas, he’ll send in reinforcements.”

“We don’t want that kind of confrontation,” Shiro remarks. “Let’s move out.”

Just as Keith straddles his own speeder, he feels the weight of Shiro’s prosthetic hand on the back of his neck. 

“Be careful in there,” the black paladin says, hand sliding down to squeeze Keith’s shoulder. 

Keith tosses him a wily smile. “Just get Pidge and Matt’s mom to safety. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Shiro returns the smile and doesn’t look back.

\--

The sun sits low, the sky bleeding a light orange-pink. Getting into the Galaxy Garrison’s main compound proves more difficult than he anticipated. There are guards posted at every location. The main compound is also unfamiliar terrain, much larger than the academy and dormitory buildings. And even with all the layouts and schematics that Shiro and Matt tried to recreate, it doesn’t do it justice. It’s an expansive campus stretched thin across the desert. 

“This isn’t just for space exploration,” Keith murmurs. 

“What do you mean?” Allura asks by his side.

“The Galaxy Garrison is an astro-exploration military organization,” Keith explains. “We were being trained for exploring not colonizing, and certainly not for invasive experimentation. But why do they have this much security? I mean… I know it’s military, but…”

“Allura, Kythel,” Larka’s voice streams through the communication link. “Thace found the tunnels that Shiro mapped out. We found our way in. Circle back to the east side of the compound.”

Keith lets out a sigh of relief. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing Allura’s hand. 

“So, this was the planet you were raised on? Where the others come from?” Allura asks, keeping up with Keith’s fast gait. “It’s different than I imagined.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I supposed I imagined it to be like Altea, but it almost looks like Daibaza—”

“Enough talking,” Larka says, “hurry up before a patrol comes by.”

“Still so demanding,” Allura murmurs under her breath.

Keith tries to hold back his chuckle.

The tunnel rests at the base of a moat-like, surface runoff area. Keith and Allura find Ulaz cutting into the side panel with a small, glowing device. 

“Does this lead to the lower sub-levels?” Allura asks. 

“Yes,” Dorma replies, scrolling through the holo-screen of her wrist device. “I’m reading an entire system of subterranean corridors and chambers beneath the compound. If there is anything dubious happening, it most likely is occurring there.”

The air in the tunnel grows heavier, like they’re moving through warm molasses. It feels like its sinking into his Marmora uniform, coating him in thick humid air. His belly cramps, restless and agitated. 

“Why are the Galra so interested in humans?” Keith asks. “Why experiment on them here?” 

Ulaz, still masked, silently looks over at Keith as Thace and Larka take his place to peel back the panel of metal. 

“I’m sure it is humanity’s resilience,” Ulaz remarks. “Before I was transferred to the science unit that was experimenting on Shiro, I was with a unit attempting to uncover a base species to use. I wasn’t privy to all of the information. I was a technician and only interacted with subjects when they were coming or going into hibernation chambers. Yet it seemed that they were working within Haggar’s robeast program.

“This,” he continues, gesturing to the space around them, “this seems to be an undercover operation. Perhaps they took a liking to humans after working with Shiro’s father. Perhaps they saw the practicality and potential of using humans.”

Ulaz’s words are clinical. They leave an awful taste in his mouth. 

A loud crack breaks through the sudden silence when Thace heaves a piece of metal out of the way. 

“I’ll take point,” Larka says. She slips through the opening and disappears into the dark. 

Dorma and Ulaz quickly follow. But before Allura and Keith can follow through, Thace grabs them both by the shoulder.

“We might have to separate while we’re down there,” he says tersely. “Stay with Larka… make sure she doesn’t get too overzealous.”

Keith grits his teeth as Allura nods. Whatever is hidden in the depths of the Galaxy Garrison, Keith knows it won’t be good.

~~

Pidge sweats beneath her paladin armor. The thin flight suit beneath sticks to her clammy skin. It looks dark within her family home. The yellowed patches in the front yard leave dusty orange smears of burnt grass across the lawn. The porchlight is off, but the moon above illuminates enough that it casts the shadows of her and her team against the cold ground.

Matt takes the first step, heading to the porch and brushing over the welcome mat. He picks up a lone key, the metal scratching against the concrete. 

“I don’t like this,” Shiro says, looking up at the house. 

“What?” Pidge asks, whipping her head around to glare up at Shiro. He’s still looking at the house. His square jaw is set in an uncomfortably tight clench. 

“You know what.” Hunks starts, stepping up between Shiro and Olia. “I gotta agree. This just gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. She looks over at Lance who stands there, restlessness blanketing across his face. His dark blue irises are just a thin band around his dilated pupils. His lips are set in a firm line, gaze shifting over her before returning to Shiro. Is he frightened?

“Why don’t we scope out the house for a bit? See if there’s any movement,” Lance says. The bravado in his voice makes all thoughts of fear disappear from her mind. Something else is bothering him. “Matt and I can clear it.”

The front door creaks open slowly as Matt gently pushes forward. They all turn towards the rebel. 

“I didn’t even put the key in the lock,” he murmurs. 

Cold terror washes over Pidge. Before Hunk can reach for her, she races past Matt. She slams open the door, stepping into the dark foyer of her childhood home. 

“Mom,” she cries out. Only silence greets her.

Pidge’s hand instinctively reaches for the light switch. She flicks it once, twice, three times, and yet the lights don’t turn on. 

“There’s a generator out back,” Matt croaks. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The green paladin feels his hand on her shoulder and almost wilts. She wants to dry heave, wants to throw herself on the ground. Instead, Pidge searches. She checks the living room first. Everything is covered in a thin layer of dust. She swipes a hand across the coffee table, the sandy dirt collecting on the tips of her gloves like gray powder.

“Pidge…” Hunk starts, the first to move into the house. 

“No,” she says, her tone sharp and unwavering. “We’re not leaving until we find her.”

Hunk’s soft sigh doesn’t deter her. She ushers herself into the dining room, then the kitchen, and back into the corridor. When she reaches the staircase, she notices Hunk is already climbing them with his bayard in hand. Lance rests in front the doorway like a watchman, leaning against the edge with his rifle in his hands. Shiro and Olia must have gone with Matt. 

She climbs the stairs, shoving past Hunk when they reach the landing. Her gait is hesitant, like she knows what to expect but at the same time fears what she’ll see. Her hand searches for the hallway light but remembers it won’t work. She leans against the cool wall. 

“Do you want me to go first?” Hunk asks, taking off his helmet and placing it on a small table. Her mother usually puts a vase of flowers there. Her eyes roam across the dirty surface. They follow down the length of the spindly legs, all the way to the floor. Her hands shake. 

Shattered glass, water-stained flooring, dried roses crushed by the heel of a boot. 

A dull tension spreads throughout Pidge’s chest. She pushes herself from the wall, hurdling down to her parents’ room. A thick stream of moonlight cascades in through the window. 

Pidge feels like she should scream, let out another mournful wail. But she’s wrung dry and emotionally drained.

Her mother would never leave the bed so untidy. The sheets tangled at the foot of the bed. The lamp, which usually rested on the bedside table, thrown on the ground. The shade upended, and the bulb smashed. The trinkets and toiletries which were held on the vanity are scattered across the ground. Her mother’s perfume bottle cracked, the liquid already soaked and dried into the carpet. 

Pidge tiredly pulls off her helmet. There was a struggle, but at least her mother fought. She scrubs at her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“Pidge, we’ll find her,” Hunk murmurs from behind her. 

A chugging sound growls before sputtering out. She hears Matt’s anguished shout from outside, but she still doesn’t move. Matt hadn’t been too optimistic on the way over here, his hands gripping the handlebars of his speeder too tightly. If Larka was right, wouldn’t the druids come after Pidge’s human mother already? If her dad was controlling this Galra base on Earth wouldn’t that mean her mother could already have been transferred into space? Was Pidge just dragging everyone along on some wild goose chase? 

A couple minutes later, the footsteps outside the door tell her that Lance has joined them. He sucks his teeth in frustration. 

“The generator isn’t working,” and then Lance gets a real look at the room. “Holy—” 

Hunk cuts him a glance and shakes his head. 

“It’s okay, Hunk,” Pidge says, finally looking back at them. “They ransacked this room and took my mom. We’re all thinking it.”

“Pidge, we’ll find her,” Hunk repeats. “We have the Blades, Keith, and Allura on the inside. We’ll contact them and make sure they check for any information on Colleen Holt.” 

Pidge gives a shaky nod.

~~

“Not again,” Keith whispers to himself as he appraises the laboratory in front of him. It’s indistinguishable from the other clone chamber on the dreadnought. “They’re really betting on this cloning project.”

Allura perches her hand on her hips, staring up at the rows and rows of sleep pods holding identical versions of a boy with sandy brown hair.

“Do you know who this boy is, Kythel?” Larka asks, tapping away at the console in front of her. Dorma and Ulaz stand on either side of her working at their own stations. Thace stands in the doorway brandishing his blade. 

“His name is Norman,” Keith murmurs, looking over his shoulder. “I had an astrophysics class with him and we were sparring partners for a year. We weren’t close, but he was a good guy.”

“We won’t be able to tell if there’s an original in here or if they’re holding him in a different cell,” Dorma comments, looking over at Larka’s console. “And all of this is in Old Altean, Larka. I can’t read half of this.”

“What do you want to do?” Ulaz asks. 

“Purge it,” Allura says suddenly. Everyone looks over at her. “What? That’s what we came here for, right? Sabotage and take the information we need. It’s like Dorma said… you don’t know if the original subject is here and we have no idea what they’re planning to use these clones for. Can you imagine? If Keith was friends with this boy and this boy conveniently found himself in space and infiltrated us?”

Allura grinds her teeth so hard that Keith can hear it. 

“Purge the chamber, Larka,” Allura says. “These are corrupt Alteans. My father wouldn’t want this.”

Larka gives her a pained expression before nodding. She taps at the console in front of her and a few ticks later, familiar white smoke fills the sleep pods and the clones flatline. 

“It won’t be long before they find out they’ve been infiltrated,” Thace says hastily. “And there’s another clone laboratory we’ll need to purge before we can get to the archival chamber.”

The group races down the corridor and heads into the next cloning laboratory where replicas of a teenage girl with dark hair and brown skin rests within sleep pods. Just as his mother is tapping in the sequence to purge this laboratory, Shiro’s voice streams through Keith’s comm link.

“Keith! Keith, are you there? Can you hear me?” 

Keith furrows his brows. “Yeah. I hear you.”

“Listen, we got to Matt and Pidge’s house, but it looks like Mrs. Holt was taken hostage. We—”

“What?” Allura and Keith ask in unison. 

“You heard me,” Shiro continues. “Coran scanned the GG base and she may have been taken there. Keep your eyes out for her. Maybe there’s information stored there.”

“We’re heading to the archival chamber soon,” Thace remarks. “We’ll search for her whereabouts there.”

“Thanks,” Shiro says. “We’ll be at your location in thirty minutes.”

“Shiro,” Keith says. “Use the tunnels on the east side. That’s how we got in but be careful.”

“All the time,” the black paladin replies.

Keith shakes his head. 

“Change of plans,” Allura says. “Keith, Larka, and I will look for Pidge’s mother. Ulaz, Dorma, and Thace: head to the archival chamber. We’ll meet up once we find her location.”

\--

The deeper they delve into the hidden corridors of the base, the cooler it gets. The once bright yellow lights start dimming to a soft purple. The walls, a once warm tan, have turned to cold gray. It sets Keith’s teeth on edge. 

He’s surprised that no alarms have been buzzing ever since they purged the laboratories above. He grows even more uncomfortable when he hears the shrouded whispers coiling through the air. He and Allura are just about to turn down another corridor when Larka grabs them by the back of the neck and pulls them into a shadowed alcove. 

“Don’t move,” she says, a purple mist coiling around her wrist as if she’s preparing to launch a barrage of projectiles.

The pain in his neck makes him breath hard, but he stills when he hears soft footsteps pattering down the hallway. Slowly with sweat beading his forehead, Keith peers around to see a druid. Perhaps he was too hopeful, that maybe his mother was wrong and Pidge was overreacting. 

But here he is on Earth, miles beneath the surface with a druid walking past him in dark brown robes and a white avian mask. A purple mist encircles its head like a halo. Keith’s hand itches to grasp his blade, but the druid walks right past them, ducking into a corridor running perpendicular. 

“Quiznak, that was close,” Allura says, leaning back. Through her helmet, Keith can see her eyes flutter back. She licks her upper lip to wick away the sweat. 

“It should have sensed us,” Keith says. “Right?”

“I interfered with him,” Larka remarks. “But it won’t last long. He’ll realize that someone toyed with his memories.”

They leave their hiding place, sticking close to the shadows as they descend even deeper. They pass other laboratories, some occupied by shrouded figures and some filled with vats of quintessence. Pink, yellow, green, blue. Quintessence in various stages of refinement and experimentation. If Lotor is connected to these druids, there isn’t a doubt in Keith’s mind that this may be where a lot of the production is happening. But then… why hasn’t Lotor or his generals showed up on Earth? Does he not know where his science team developments his equipment and resources?

Keith spots a console kiosk at the edge of the hallway and it reminds him of his time back on the dreadnought. Everything here is so eerily similar. 

“Look,” Keith whispers. “Maybe we can check if they have a prison.”

“That’s a start,” Allura says, “instead of wandering down here in the dark until we happen upon Pidge’s mother.”

Larka wordlessly heads to the kiosk and scans her hand to operate it. Holding her breath, she waits for it to log in and then searches through the mapping documents.

“There aren’t any prisons on this level or any of the ones below it,” Larka explains. “But there does seem to be one area that’s heavily guarded.” She scrolls through the image, enlarging it on the holo-screen. 

A hallway with a door at the end takes up most of the screen. Sentries are posted on each side of the door while a group of soldiers are cloistered near the opening of the corridor. 

“How the hell are we going to get pass that?” Keith asks. 

“Allura and I will handle the soldiers,” Larka replies. “You take out the sentries.” 

“Larka, come in,” Thace’s voice carries over the communication link. “Ulaz found some evidence that this base has been in contact with the Kuron bases. Specifically, Base Kuron-3 from about a fort-quint ago. There is no evidence that it may have been decommissioned yet, so Solthro may still be there.”

“Can you hack into it?” Allura asks as they head down a narrow hallway.

“Plant some spyware so the next time they send an outbound message, we could have some eyes on whatever’s going on in there,” Keith adds.

“That isn’t everything we’ve found,” Ulaz interrupts. “Apparently, their human experiments have been failing them for the past several phoebs. And we just purged what was left.”

“They’ll be angry no doubt,” Dorma gripes.

“There are logs, too,” Thace continues. “It seems the druids on Earth are irritated by the direction of the war. There are mentions about Zarkon’s wavering focus and Lotor’s duplicity. One of these druids may be on the inside feeding this base information. I don’t think it’s Haggar.”

“Narti,” Keith whispers. Who else could it be? She was the one who showed them the tablet which led to the cloning laboratory. She had all but admitted it back at the Deadzone. 

“Thace, try to hack in,” Larka says, “if you can’t do anything else, make sure when Pidge arrives that she uploads a virus before you leave the archival chamber. We may not even need it if Solthro decommissions the base before we get there. We’re nearing a heavily patrolled area, so we’ll be going dark soon. They’re guarding something.”

Thace is quiet for a moment. “Be careful.”

“Knowledge or death,” she says sharply.

“Why do you have to be so ominous?” Allura asks, rolling her eyes.

“Because I can’t get a read on what’s in that room,” Larka replies.

Keith’s finger slides over his wrist device as they branch into another corridor that leads to the guarded sector. “I’m counting six warm bodies. You sure you two can handle it?”

Larka and Allura slowly look over at him. Although his mother’s face is masked, he can read the exasperation on Allura’s face.

“Just asking.”

“Focus on the sentries,” Allura groans.

Keith hangs back, unsheathing his blade. It burns hot in his hand, the weapon lengthening and angling into a slight curve. He sees the first flash of his mother’s purple jagged magic, followed by an unfurling of Allura’s pink gauzy magic. His hand grips the hilt of his blade. A swell of energy pulses throughout the hallway and Keith rushes forward, kicking off the edge of the wall and into the sector. 

Allura has one hand coiling pink quintessence around her arm before thrusting it forward, straight into the chest of a soldier. Larka has both hands open, a pulse of serrated electric-looking magic swirling in front of her. There are three more soldiers before he can get to the sentries. Gunfire echoes down the metal hallway. 

Keith brandishes his blade with little flourish before charging. He sidesteps one of the soldiers who attempts to grapple for him. He swivels and shoves his blade through the back of the soldier’s cuirass armor. He twists it, grating the blade across bone and muscle. 

As he’s pulling out his blade, Allura grabs her bayard and unleashes the energy whip. She throws it at one of the soldiers heading towards Keith. It ropes around the soldier’s neck, sending a pulse of energy to stun as she sweeps him off his feet. She looks up, cocking an eyebrow.

“I told you to focus on the sentries,” Allura remarks.

“I was getting antsy,” Keith jokes. He finally has an opening. Somersaulting forward, he weaves around two soldiers who have just entered into a fray with his mother. 

_Good luck to them,_ he thinks, watching as his mother kicks one in the chest and sends him flying onto his back.

Keith throws his blade down the short length of the hall, lodging the weapon in the neck of one of the sentries. The other, shocked as its companion sputters out purple sparks from its throat, nearly drops his gun. Keith doesn’t give it time to react as he launches over, twisting his legs around its waist before throwing his weight back. They crash to the floor in a tangle of long limbs. Keith takes the opportunity to shove his hand into the malleable encasing at its neck. 

“Y-you d-do—You do not have per-per-permission to be here,” it stutters as Keith pulls at its wires.

“Yeah, well I just got permission,” he says, gritting his teeth. 

He yanks and watches as the lights dim from its face. He leans back, breathing hard. 

“You okay, son?” Larka asks, ambling over to the first sentry and pulling the blade from its chest. 

Keith pushes the sentry off him and rises to his feet. His mother tosses the blade back to him. 

“Fine,” he replies, catching it by its hilt. “Allura?” 

“I’m alright,” she remarks, dismissing her bayard with a slight nudge. “But I’m sure we attracted too much attention.”

“Then let’s finish this quickly,” Larka says, hand already braced to press on the identification pad. 

_I hope Pidge’s mom is in here, too,_ he thinks.

The pad scans her hand, recognizes her as Galra and the door slowly slides open. The room is lit by purple sub-lights and Keith is the first to enter with his blade drawn. 

“Thank the gods,” a gruff voice says from the depths of the room. “I thought I’d never be rescued.” 

Keith’s eyes narrow, looking straight behind the desk at the familiar face with an eye injury that still hasn’t properly healed. An injury that Keith had put on that face out of pure anger over Shiro’s disappearance. 

“Commander Iverson?”

~~

Their feet clank against the metal floor as they race down the hall. Her hands clench at her side at the eerie familiarity. It’s as if the Galra placed this base here decades ago without the humans knowing.

“We’re almost there,” Olia mutters as she takes point with Matt.

They were unsuccessful in remaining undetected. Shiro and Hunk had to take out at least six sentries before they even got to this point. Thankfully, they didn’t stumble upon any druids. But Pidge has the strange feeling that the dark magicians may already know that they’re here. 

“Rendezvous point up ahead,” Olia says. “I’ll make sure this floor is cleared.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Matt asks.

“Go with Voltron,” Olia says. “I’ll be fine.” She doesn’t wait for Matt’s argument, choosing to lope down the hallway before turning down a side corridor.

“Dammit, Olia,” Matt mutters.

Pidge spots Dorma in the wide doorway leading to the archival chamber. She wordlessly waves them in before taking up her post again. 

The archival chamber is a large hall lined with computer consoles and large overheating machines at the center. It’s a databank holding some of the most important secrets of this faction of the Galra Empire. Pidge wants to devour it all, break apart every piece of code she can get her hands on. Decipher all these riddles and learn about her father.

“Did you find my mom?” Matt asks, worry creasing his forehead.

“Kythel, Allura, and Larka went on ahead to find her,” Thace answers from the console he’s working at. 

“Where is Ulaz?” Shiro asks. 

“Digging in the archives,” Thace replies, shifting around to point near the back of the chamber. Hidden in the stacks of machines, Pidge spots Ulaz rummaging in the pits of some computer.

“Did you disable the security cameras in this area?” Hunk asks. “Because we had limited resistance getting down here.”

“I think most of the people are down in the sub-levels,” Thace says, “but yes, I have disabled the cameras.”

“What do you mean? There are more people down there?” Lance asks, bewildered.

“Larka radioed in before they went dark,” he says. “Mentioned there was this heavily guarded room. I’m assuming that they may have found Colleen Holt.”

“Well, we should go down and help,” Pidge says, pacing uneasily. “What are we waiting for?”

“We wait for them to check in,” Thace remarks. “Once we get the affirmative, we can clear out of here. Until then we’ve got fifteen doboshes left until the security system reboots and I plan on getting enough intel as I can.”

Thace’s angular face gazes at her with a father's warm, an understanding that she’s fraying at the seams. “Pidge, help me upload a virus that activates one varga after we leave. We want them floundering. Can you do that?”

Pidge curls her hands into fists. She knows he means well and is trying to distract her from what she really wants to do: charge recklessly into danger in search of her mother. Swallowing around the ball of tension in her throat, she tightly nods and starts towards a free machine. 

“Hey, Galra Dad,” Lance starts quietly, “do you think I can get on one of these?”

Thace turns to give Lance a stern look before nodding in the direction of the console beside Pidge.

“Lance, what are you gonna do?” Hunk asks.

“I want to contact my brother,” Lance says, sidling up to the console. Everyone stalls for a moment and Pidge looks at him with wide eyes. 

“What?” Shiro asks. “Lance, I don’t think this is the time for—”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about what the civilians think about this,” Lance starts. “This operation is miles and miles under the desert and yet no one knows that this existed. They’re hovering around the place we pulled the Blue Lion from. There are sentries wandering the halls. We have no idea how deep this goes.”

The room is quiet except for Ulaz’s rummaging and cursing from across the chamber. 

“What do you mean?” Matt finally breaks the silence.

“What did they tell our families when we went missing?” Lance asks frantically. “If they took your mom and hid her somewhere because she was directly related to a paladin, a rebel, and mad scientist, where would they put our families?”

Slowly, Shiro walks up to Lance and places his Galra prosthetic on the console screen to activate it. “We’ll search for a way to talk to your brother, but we’ll make contact with him from the Castleship, buddy. Thace is right… We don’t have enough time. They'll figure out we're here soon."

Lance takes a deep breath before nodding. “You promise?”

Shiro squeezes his shoulder. “I promise.”

~~

“Tell us what happened here,” Keith says. “You’re saying you’ve only been invaded once?”

Iverson’s brows knit together, his brown face wincing as if in pain. “Your voice. It sounds familiar.”

Keith freezes, his jaw clenching beneath his mask. He won’t look familiar to Iverson, or at least seeing purple aliens might scare him even more than he already appears. The once strong and belligerent soldier looks like he’s been downgraded to an apprehensive child, unsure with his own reality. 

“About a year ago,” Iverson starts, “we were doing a mandatory patrol with senior officers. It was a survey of the perimeters from this base to the academy. I was stationed at the school, I taught at the school. But I got this transfer after Takashi Shirogane disappeared during his quarantine.”

Keith shifts on his feet, carefully watching as Commander Iverson scrubs at his previously manacled, bruising wrists. 

“Do you remember anything from your previous captivity?” Allura kindly asks. 

Iverson shakes his head, looking downtrodden. “I just remember we were invaded. We tried to push them back. But when I woke up, I was being transferred back and forth between bases.”

“Bases?” Keith asks. “You mean there are more of them?” 

Iverson shrugs. “That’s what it seemed like to me. I was constantly in a transport vehicle.”

“Is he lying?” Allura asks, looking back at Larka.

Larka leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. Her mask has not left her face, but Keith can tell she’s stewing. “I told you. I couldn’t get a read on this room. It’s still the same.”

“So, the druids could be blocking everything,” Keith wonders aloud, “or at least controlling—”

“Druids?” Iverson interrupts, hastily licking his lips. “What—” His words halt as Keith disables his mask. The man is silent, scrutinizing Keith with his one good eye. There’s no shock on his face, only a calm expression. “Keith Kogane.”

The young Blade’s breath catches in his throat.

“Prince Kythel.” A winding smirk twists across Iverson’s face. Keith nearly chokes as the commander’s gaze slowly drifts over to Larka. “You know… your son,” he points at his wounded eye, “punched me for not following up on the Kerberos mission. I see insubordination runs in your family.”

Keith hears a sharp inhale from his mother before she strikes forward, her hand pulling his blade from the scabbard at the small of his back. The light is blinding when she throws it just as it activates. Iverson has no time to teleport or coil any quintessence because the blade slices through the meat of his shoulder, impaling him against the wall like a pinned butterfly. A sharp wail of pain echoes in the small room.

When Keith’s vision clears, Larka has pulled the blade from the wall and grips Iverson by the back of the neck. She slams his head into the desk, blood spraying across the keyboard and computer monitor. 

“Twenty deca-phoebs ago, I was on this planet. I heard your name before. Ryou Shirogane called you deranged for even thinking you should allow those _monsters_ on this planet. But it didn’t matter to you, did it?” She pulls back his head, only to smash it forward again. “Because you quiznaking druids were already here. Weren’t you?” She slams his head once more. 

Allura grabs her, pulling her away from Iverson. 

"Larka! Larka, stop!"

Keith rushes forward, checking the commander and finds him unresponsive. 

“He’s not dead,” Keith says, his eyes wide. “I-I think he’s just out cold.” 

Larka pushes Allura back, grabbing for the blade on the desk. Her hand wavers for a tick before she hands it back to Keith. 

“Listen, Larka,” Allura starts. “We got one. We’ll take him back and question him. Alright?” 

With shaking hands, Keith pushes the commander aside to get to the keyboard.

“Keith, what are you doing?” Allura asks. “We need to get out of here.”

“I’m looking for Pidge’s mom. We find her location, then we leave,” he replies. He briefly looks over at his mother who is furiously pacing outside the room. Allura takes her helmet off, wiping away the sweat at her hairline. 

“She was right,” Allura murmurs, looking back and forth between Larka and Iverson. “She was quiznaking right. W-what… do you think Haggar is involved in this?” 

“That’s the evidence that everyone is looking for up top,” Keith says, attempting to keep his cool when all he wants to do is scream. But his mom looks like she’s one nerve away from a mental breakdown and Allura is no better. What is it like to know that there are more Alteans out there? To know they are corrupt and arrogantly so…

Keith lets out a deep breath. They need to get off this planet.

~~

“Five doboshes until security comes back online,” Thace says. “Dorma, help Ulaz with the last few bombs.”

“Won’t they take out this entire sector?” Shiro asks. 

“Hopefully,” Thace says, packing up his equipment and shoving it into his utility belt. “But as long as the archival chamber is damaged it’s—”

“Shiro!” Keith’s voice streams through the audio. “I found her!”

“What?” Pidge’s face brightens.

“You found her?” Matt grins.

“Yes, but y’all will have to get her,” Keith says, “we’re kinda busy here.”

“Go to the west wing of the compound. Two levels above that is a prison. That’s where they’re keeping her,” Allura explains. 

“We’ll meet you at Coran’s rendezvous point,” Keith adds. 

Pidge is already out the door and running, Matt hot on her heels. She’s vaguely aware of Shiro speaking to the others and then he’s right behind them, too. 

“Keith, can you tell me if we’ve got a welcoming party?” Shiro asks. 

There’s silence on the other end and then: “Not that I’m aware of. If anything, it might be a few sentries. Nothing you can’t handle.”

Pidge smirks. She’ll kill anything down here, as long as her mom comes back with them safe and sound. Pidge is flinging herself into the nearest lift once they reach the west wing. Matt pants, hands braced on his knees as Shiro calls down the elevator. 

Pidge taps her feet impatiently as the lift pings and the sliding doors opens. 

“Two levels above, right?” She asks as Matt and Shiro join her.

She doesn’t wait for their responses, just smashes her finger repeatedly on the button. The doors shut and the alarms suddenly begin to blare. 

“Took them long enough,” Matt murmurs.

 _“Hostiles in sub-level nine,”_ recites an automated voice over the intercom system. _“All troops to sub-level nine.”_

Shiro curses under his breath as the doors slide open. “That must be where the others are.”

“You think they caused a distraction or something,” Pidge asks as they enter a warm antechamber.

“I don’t know, but… this doesn’t look like a prison,” Matt says. 

“It looks like an—”

“…an apartment,” Shiro finishes, taking the first step into the entrance hall. The alarm sounds are muffled as the doors close behind them. 

An archway leads to a fully furnished living room and a small kitchen. Everything is white and glossy and reminds Pidge of the Castle of Lions. It looks less lived in, but there’s a blue dog bed in the corner of the living room. The sound of a door sliding open has them grabbing for their weapons, but they stop short at what they see. 

“I told you once and I’ll say it again,” the voice starts, “I won’t tell you anything because—” Thick eyebrows furrow together. Colleen’s light brown hair is longer than it was before. So much that it is coiled in a low knot at the nape of her neck. Tears well up in her amber eyes. “Matt? Katie?”

“Mom?” The siblings say in unison. 

Pidge can’t keep herself from launching into her mom’s arms. She smells the familiar scent of her mother’s lavender soap and spearmint fragrance. She feels Matt’s muscled arms encircling them both. 

“H-how did you two get here?” Colleen whimpers, tugging them both closer as if she’ll lose them if she lets go. “Katie, you went missing and—”

The sound of barking from the bedroom startles Pidge. Colleen withdraws from the embrace, moving towards the door and slides it open. A mass of tan fur barrels out of the bedroom, hurdling up into Matt’s arms. 

“Bae Bae!” Pidge brushes her face across his warm fur. 

“How did you find me?” Colleen asks, threading her hands into their hair.

“We went to the house, but it looked like there was a struggle,” Matt explains. “We already had people on the inside searching for you. They’re the ones who gave us your location.”

Colleen pulls her children into another hug. Bae Bae wriggles between them, barking and licking salty, tear-stained faces.

“I hate to cut this reunion short,” Shiro says from the doorway, a friendly smile on his face. “But the five of us have a flight to catch.”

~~

They land outside a farmhouse in the middle of the desert. Abandoned and dilapidated, it sits in the foreground collecting dust. The happy sounds of a dog barking and children laughing echoes in her ears. With arms crossed over her chest, Larka stares at the farmhouse. Half of the front door is missing and some of the windows look broken, but it still stands here twenty years later.

“We’re almost finished loading up,” Thace says, walking up beside her. “Matt and Coran are putting Colleen in a sleep pod as an extra precaution. She’s a bit malnourished, but she’ll be fine in about a varga. She’s also willing to make a statement at the Record… about everything she’s seen.”

“Good,” Larka says, tersely. “And the druid?”

“Ulaz and I have put him in a sleep pod, too,” he replies, apprehensive as he slings an arm over her shoulders and pulls her close. He kisses her temple, mumbling into her hair. “Let Kolivan deal with this. Please.”

Larka chuffs in derision. 

“They know we’ve been here now,” Thace says. “We just destroyed their labs, took their intel, and kidnapped one of their commanders. It won’t be long until they tell Solthro that we’ve infiltrated Earth and freed his wife. They may even try to seize more of the planet.”

“They don’t have the forces,” Larka muses aloud. “They’re working outside Zarkon’s control. If they’re keeping this from him – if Haggar is involved _and_ keeping this from him – he won’t take this lightly. He’ll perceive it as an act of civil war.” 

Thace pulls her close. “I wish I could have been the one to meet him. Is that childish of me?” 

A knowing smile plays at Larka’s lips.

“Maybe it can happen,” he continues. 

Larka’s gaze snaps up, startled and wary. “What? What are you talking about?”

Thace turns to face her, a hand winding around to caress her jaw. “Ulaz found something, Larka. While he was looking through the archives, he kept coming across a classified project. Most of the information was redacted, but something called Subject Two kept coming up.”

“Subject Two?”

“Apparently, the druids had a mole among them about twelve deca-phoebs ago,” Thace remarks. 

“That’s around the time—”

“Yes, my love,” he interrupts. “But the strangest part of this Subject Two project was that the most recent experiment log was a fort-quint ago on Base Kuron-3. Whatever research Mick was looking into must have been deemed useful to the druids.”

Larka’s mouth runs dry as they both turn to watch Keith, talking and laughing with Lance and Hunk while Pidge throws a brittle branch to Bae Bae. The dog catches it in midair before racing back to Pidge. She takes the stick from Bae Bae only to toss it to Keith, their hands coated in dog slobber. Her son smiles, throwing the stick back into the dry field. Larka’s gut clenches, her hands instinctively reaching for Thace.

“Mick Kogane is alive.”


	9. Interlude and Protection

_Mick Kogane is alive. Mick Kogane is alive. Dad is still alive._

Keith blinks, stunned at the words his other father, his sire, had said to him once they arrived at Marmora headquarters. Reporting the information at the Record had only made more questions swirl around in his head. Thace and Ulaz had been meticulous with their explanations and Kolivan’s face paled as the words set in. 

Earth had been invaded. The Galra had once been cleverly close to discovering the whereabouts of the Blue Lion. Kythel, the grandson of Emperor Zarkon, could have been captured at any moment during his youth.

Colleen Holt had made statements as well. When Pidge had failed to return home one weekend, she had immediately called the Galaxy Garrison. She had known about Pidge’s plans all along, hiding in plain sight while she could gather information on the Kerberos mission and the disappearance of Sam and Matt. Colleen had done nothing but support her daughter’s choice in infiltrating the astro-exploration organization. But the Garrison hadn’t been any more loose-lipped with Colleen than they had been with Pidge when she had snuck into Iverson’s office the first time. 

When the Galaxy Garrison had lied saying that the academy never had a Pidge Gunderson enrolled… Colleen knew something went wrong. She had called the police and filed a report, but she knew nothing would come to fruition. Local law enforcement would know next to nothing about what went on at the Galaxy Garrison’s multiple bases. 

Colleen had thought that perhaps this was a part of the reason why she had taken an extended sabbatical. She had always told herself it was to raise her son after he was born. And then Pidge was born, and it solidified her feelings. She would rather stay with them then coop herself up in a laboratory for hours on end. There was nothing wrong with her wanting to stay home. 

It took only a week until she was pulled from her bed by robed creatures and forced into the back of a truck. She wasn’t surprised that they had come for her. Whoever _they_ were. She had expected it and fought as much as she could. But the next time she opened her eyes, she stared into a strange purple face: the splotches of lavender and a flicker of yellow. 

Colleen Holt did not hide from the Record that she still loved her husband deeply. No one faulted her for that, but it did nothing to quell the confusion and rage rising inside of Pidge. 

The trip back to Gal had proven almost uncomfortable. Pidge still had questions and Keith had even more. Ulaz had so much intel to sort through, it would probably take phoebs. But all Keith wanted to know was why these druids were helping Lotor and where Mick was being held. 

“Our next move will be to infiltrate Base Kuron-3 in roughly seven quintants,” Kolivan says, his deep voice pulling Keith out of his reverie. “Hazar and I are still making the plans, but we’ll need three teams. You’ll find out if your team has been chosen for the mission when I message your communicator. I’ll schedule a meeting with those Blades two quintants before we leave.”

Keith’s eyes rove across all the apprehensive faces. Seven quintants until a mission to Base Kuron-3. Who knew what they were to expect. What are they supposed to look for? More evidence to what Lotor is doing? Could they find Mick, too? Keith swallows around the tightness in his throat, his eyes watering. 

“Ulaz, you have the correct coordinates to the base?” Kolivan asks. 

Keith fidgets. 

“Yes, Leader,” Ulaz confirms. “I also have the schematics.”

“Make sure all this information is brought to me by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Leader.”

“Kythel,” Kolivan looks over at him, concern weaved across his face. “I want you to double check with Shiro. Make sure he has the intel from Ryou. If those druids know we were prying into their databases, I want to make sure we are ready for whatever they wish to do against us.” 

Keith nods, his gaze shifting over to his parents’ empty seats. His mother had taken an immediate liking to Colleen Holt. After learning about the human woman’s scientific proficiency, Larka invited her on a tour of the laboratories and a promise of introducing her to Ryner. His mother’s disappearance was already expected as she wanted to help Colleen acclimate to life in space after Pidge barricaded herself up in Green. 

However, Keith hadn’t expected his father to not show up. 

\--

He doesn’t see Thace until dinner that night on the Castleship. 

“What is going on?” Keith asks as Hunk ushers him through the doorway. The dining hall is decorated with pale floating lanterns and the table is set with a lavish cloth. It’s filled to the brim with slices of succulent meats and plates full of sautéed vegetables and bowls of steamed grain. 

“Coran, Thace, and I have been cooking our butts off since we got back from HQ,” Hunk says, prodding him to sit in between Lance and Shiro. “You’re gonna turn that frown upside down, Galra Keith.”

The paladins are there with Allura sitting at the head of the table. Mom, Dad, and Colleen are already tucked into their seats. Coran and Matt are pulling Ryou into his own, the older Altean murmuring something that suspiciously sounds like _behave_. Below the table, Bae Bae seems to have settled down beside Pidge’s bare feet happily waiting for any scraps.

“What is going on?” Keith whispers at Shiro who passes a plate of crispy, blue vegetables over to him. 

“Family dinner,” Shiro whispers back. “Hunk thought it was important seeing as we got Mrs. Holt back. I agreed.”

Keith nods, scooping out a few spoonfuls before passing the plate into Lance’s eagerly awaiting hands. 

“Yo, Galra Dad,” Lance remarks. “How long until I can call Marco?”

“I have to go through Pidge’s scans first,” Thace says, pouring a pitcher of a sweetened pink fizzy drink into Larka’s glass. “Ulaz could explain it better, but it seems like the druids had been searching for not only Colleen Holt, but for your family as well as Hunk’s. It also appears that the coordinates you gave me for their previous known address… well, evidence from the planetary satellites proves they may not be there anymore.” 

“What?” Lance’s forehead creases with worry and exhaustion. 

“It doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve been taken,” Thace continues. “Ulaz thinks quite the opposite.”

“Which is…?” Hunk drawls.

“It looks like they may have escaped,” Coran interrupts. “Once you and Lance went missing, it looks like your families packed up and left. They could have been spied on and figured someone was watching them.”

“Or the government may have forced them into hiding,” Larka adds. “If any of you have a technologically savvy family member, they could be trying to do what Pidge did to find her own family. They may be suspicious if the Galaxy Garrison didn’t answer any of their questions. But since we haven’t interrogated Iverson yet, we don’t know.”

“Once I can triangulate Marco’s location,” Thace says, “we can make contact.”

“It may take some time,” Allura says, gently placing her hand on Lance’s to caress his light brown skin. “We’ll be surveying Earth from a distance, but I promise we’ll find your families.”

“This… this is so overwhelming,” Colleen murmurs, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Mom,” Matt sighs, rubbing her upper back in comfort. 

“I’m just glad you and Katie were safe all this time,” Colleen cries, wiping at her face with her slender fingers. 

“Mom, we’ve been safe,” Matt starts. “So… from now on I just want you to be safe and maybe... the safest place for you would be on Gal.”

Pidge’s spork clangs against the plate, her jaw clenched tightly. “I thought we agreed she would stay on the Castleship.”

“Pidge, most of the time, you’re in some space battle,” Matt argues. “She should be on solid ground.”

“I’m not dumping her on another planet to just wait for us to come home,” Pidge says, gritting her teeth. “I’m not doing that again.”

Keith shares a quick glance with Shiro.

“Pidge,” Shiro says, his tone firm and chiding.

“No, I’m not doing it again!” Pidge shouts. “I just got her back, I’m not just gonna—” Her voice cracks. Her cheeks are flushed as she stares down at her plate.

Keith understands. He knows how Pidge feels in this moment more than anyone. 

“She could stay with me and my parents,” Keith says. “She’ll be safe there. And you have the passcode to get into the house. You can come in any time. I mean you do that now anyways. Or, Mrs. Holt, we could set you up someplace close by within walking distance. Bae Bae can roam around outside. You can have your own space and you won’t be cooped up underground or on a spaceship.”

Colleen smiles at Keith before shifting in her seat to look at her daughter. “Katie,” Colleen says, “Katie, look at me.”

With clenched fists, Pidge turns. 

“I’m not sitting on some planet waiting for you or your brother to come home. I’m not going to sit around waiting for your father to magically show up and explain all this crazy nonsense to me,” Colleen says. “I understand full well that there is a war going on, bigger than any of us on Earth could imagine. And I’m not going to sit around waiting to be one of the next people to be taken by these Galra Imperials.”

“Mom…”

Colleen raises a hand to silence her daughter. “I’m going to join in this fight, Katie. I may not be able to fly around in one of those robots, but Keith’s mother showed me those labs and I’m going to use my talents there.”

Everyone seems to be holding their breath in and Keith grips Shiro’s hand for comfort beneath the table.

“I guess you wouldn’t be much of a Holt if you didn’t fight,” Pidge admits, grinning deviously.

“No,” Colleen smiles back, “I probably wouldn’t.”

“Okay, great, now that that’s settled,” Ryou remarks abruptly. “Mama Larka, pass that steak down here because Auntie Allura isn’t speaking to me.”

Larka narrows her eyes, derision swimming across her face. “I wonder why…”

Keith almost laughs at the twitch in Allura’s eye. 

Dinner resumes without much fanfare. Keith scarfs down two plates of food before scrambling for some fruity custard pie that Hunk claimed he slaved over.

“Kythel,” Thace says when the table is lulling down. “How did the meeting go?”

“Kolivan is planning to infiltrate Base Kuron-3,” Keith says around a mouthful of custard. “Said he’s planning to execute it in seven quintants.”

“That soon?” Larka asks.

“We have to,” Keith replies. “Who knows when Haggar will try to neutralize it. It’s our one solid lead to both Pidge’s dad and Lotor’s goals.” _And Dad is alive._

“How many teams?” Thace inquires.

“Three.”

“You said seven days?” Shiro asks. “What’s the likelihood that you’ll be on it?”

Keith shrugs. “I want to be on it, but that depends on Kolivan and Hazar. They’re choosing the teams.”

Shiro leans back in his chair and drums his fingers against the edge of the table. 

“Alright, good,” he says, “Then we’ll be going on vacation, starting tomorrow morning.”

Keith almost chokes on his pie. “W-w-what?”

“Did you choose a place?” Allura asks, excitedly.

“Please, tell me you’re going to the beach?” Lance begs.

“Why? So, you can show up?” Hunk teases.

“I’ll show up,” Coran says, matter-of-factly.

“Same,” Pidge deadpans.

“We’re just going to disappear for a few days,” Shiro says. “We’ll update you every night, but no, none of you are coming.”

“W-w-what?” Keith sputters.

“I have you for at least five quintants,” Shiro says with a bright smile. “No missions, no orders, no long-distance calls.”

Keith doesn’t even care that they’re in front of everyone. He wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck and gives him the sweetest custard pie kiss.

~~

Lotor grimaces while he stares at the latest report. Two cruisers destroyed and forty-six sentries lost in the last bitter firefight against Zarkon. Twenty-three soldiers dead, and the casualties are piling up faster since all the sleep pods are currently occupied. The young prince slams the datapad down on the table before shoving it away, disgusted by the turn in recent events. Every move he makes, an enemy is only a few steps behind. Whether that be Zarkon and his plasma cannons or the Blades and their sabotaging of vital science facilities or Voltron inciting revolution after revolution on some backwater planet.

 _But in the last fort-quint, it seems Larka and Allura are distracted elsewhere,_ he thinks. _Or perhaps… or perhaps they think that Father will finish me off._

The only great reprieve has been the fact that Lotor has finally managed to shake the old man. Phoebs and phoebs of running and now Zarkon retreats. A part of him wonders why because it’s too good to be true. When has he, the exiled Prince Lotor, ever been so lucky? 

The door to his chambers slides open and he grits his teeth. Only four people would be this crass to insolently amble into his rooms.

“Prince Lotor,” Acxa says, “we need to talk.”

Lotor lets out a shallow breath. He has been waiting for this. The moment when they build their resolve and leave him, too.

Ezor and Zethrid flank Acxa as Narti takes up her post at the exit. Kova is perched on her shoulder, eyes narrowed warily. Is this how it ends? Lotor clenches his hand, straightening up his spine in some vain attempt at appearing to be in control.

“What is it, Acxa?”

Just as Acxa is about to open her mouth, Ezor pushes past her. 

“We should totally lay low for a while,” Ezor says, frantically. “We’ve been running for phoebs.”

“Yeah,” Zethid says, joining her in front of Lotor. “We should find some place sturdy. Fortify it, get some guns, and blast anyone who thinks to come near us.”

A trickle of warmth slithers through his chest. 

_T-they’re still with me,_ he thinks, almost crumpling in on himself. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Ezor mutters, shoving Zethrid aside. “But I have one better, what if – and hear me out – we ask Larka for sanctuary.”

Lotor raises his eyebrows. “Are you—”

“Crazy? I know it sounds crazy,” Ezor interrupts, “but the coalition has gained traction. Allura and Larka’s alliances are flourishing. They’re gaining more territory. Wouldn’t it be even better if we could join—”

“Enough,” Acxa says, gritting her teeth and pushing them both aside. “Get out so I can talk to him.”

“But…?” Ezor says softly.

“Out!”

Ezor squeals before tugging Zethrid out of Lotor’s quarters. Narti shakes her head, leaving with a mewling Kova who clearly wants to add in his own opinions. When the door slides shut behind them, Acxa fixes her gaze on him. 

“No,” he says automatically. “We have some time to ourselves now. Zarkon has retreated and I’ll take this moment of peace to continue on with our plans. Prepare the ships. We’re heading to the Daibazaal ruins.”

Acxa chuffs in annoyance. “Prince Lotor.”

“General Acxa.”

She chuffs again.

“General Acxa, if you need me to remind you of Daibazaal’s coordinates, I can—”

“Lotor, I have never disagreed with your actions and goals,” Acxa remarks, voice dark and low. “I had promised to give all my resources to you. I am at your disposal. I will do whatever is necessary.”

“Acxa…”

“I have always followed you, Prince Lotor. I am loyal to you,” she murmurs. “But Zarkon has put a bounty on your head and my primary concern at this point is your safety. If you do not seek sanctuary for yourself, I will take matters into my own hands.”

It feels as if her words are concern masquerading as a halfhearted attempt at a threat. The warmth is back, smoothing over his chest. He’s eager for a lick of affection from anyone who will give it to him. He’ll take whatever his generals can give him and, like a glutton, consume it entirely. 

“We should consider seeking out sanctuary with the Blade of Marmora,” Acxa says. “They’ve taken in Imperial defectors before. She’ll do it for you.”


	10. Day Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo... so the rating went up. I was tempted to name this chapter "sheith and sheathes" or something like that, but I tried to be a bit more classy. I also haven't been responding to comments recently because of life and all that. I'll get back to doing that, but I do want to say that I read each comment and thank you so much for those and the kudos! Especially to the people who have been with me since _Escapism_. Thanks! All these comments and kudos make me smile! But enough of that: here's some Sheith fluff, alien/human smut, and a smidgen of angst.

The sand is a coral pink color beneath the two blazing suns above. The sea, a light green, shimmers out towards the horizon like glittering emeralds. Keith wants to dip his toes in and test its warmth. Behind him the Black Lion rests while Shiro pitches a tent, a gift from Allura who wanted them to bask beneath the endless stars instead of sleeping cooped up within Black’s cargo bay. Shiro had struggled in his first attempt to anchor it down. But as his hands went through the motions it became familiar to him. How many times had they done this before while on Earth? 

The tent is large and circular and by the time Shiro has finally managed to set it up, long sheer curtains billow softly in the breeze. They don’t have to crouch to enter. It’s much better than crawling in to rest on stiff, uncomfortable sleeping bags. Allura had packed cushions and thick blankets to stave off the cool air rolling in from the sea. 

The planet is uninhabited by any sapient species. Yet there is some strange wildlife: colorful birds with waxy transparent wings, curious and friendly boar-like creatures with five legs, an overaggressive serpentine beast in the water. They both note that they’ll have to be careful when they delve into the deeper areas.

Keith is stoking the flames to the campfire when Shiro passes him a canteen. He thanks him, uncapping the container and taking a large gulp of cool water. The first sun is beginning to set, the other only just passing the zenith. 

“Where did you find this place?” he asks, giving the canteen back to Shiro.

Shiro’s cheeks tint red as he places the canteen down and scrubs at the back of his neck with his prosthetic.

“Allura, Lance, and I took Ryou to a space mall,” Shiro starts. “We had to get him some of his own clothes. He couldn’t keep using mine. And Matt was tired of all his sweatshirts mysteriously disappearing.”

He’s rambling, so unlike him. Keith smiles. 

“We passed by this planet and we checked it out,” Shiro continues. “Allura told me that the beaches looked like the ones back on Altea.”

Keith nods. Allura, Coran, and Larka had told him stories of Altea. About all the times Larka and Lotor would visit Allura. Days spent playing on pink sandy beaches and sneaking juniberry cocktails while the adults were busy with annoying things like diplomacy and lawmaking. A dry feeling creeps up his back. That strange dream after his hallucination from the Zerarax mission. His life on Daibazaal would have never been like that. He wouldn’t have been raised to be some haughty figure surrounded by the corrupted versions of Allura and Pidge. 

If he had been raised to be a prince – if his mother and father had been able to keep him, if Daibazaal was his birthplace – his life wouldn’t have been such an omen. Zarkon and Honerva would have never been corrupted. They would have sealed the rift. Alfor and the other paladins would have been alive and well. Lotor would have never been so bloodthirsty and dejected. Allura would have been a heroic figure that Keith would look up to his entire life and there would be no worries. Larka and Thace would take him to Altea for every weekend and every holiday. He would be sitting on pink sand and sneaking juniberry cocktails as his grandparents grew old. No desire for quintessence. No wars. Just peace. 

Keith swallows around the sudden tension in his throat.

But if he been born on Daibazaal, if there had been no war, he would have never met Shiro. He would have never met Hunk or Lance. He would have never been raised by Mick. Would Pidge and Matt have even been born? Keith wants another sip of water but instead reaches for Shiro. He settles closer, sand shifting beneath him. He presses his lips against Shiro’s damp cheek, nosing at his cheekbone and smelling his woodsy aftershave. 

“Thank you,” he says, soft and vulnerable.

 _Thank you for existing,_ he wants to say. _Thank you for being alive._

Shiro smiles, shifting so their lips align and his warm breath dances across Keith’s face. He feels Shiro’s hand on the back of his neck, fingers teasing the soft skin at his nape. The black paladin smiles, but there is something in his eyes akin to worry. He opens his mouth twice as if he wants to say something but thinks better of it. 

A flock of crying fairy birds squawk as they fly overhead. A lone five-legged boar snuffles around one of Black’s front paws, as if trying to figure out what’s the metal goliath doing on their planet and why is it brimming with power. 

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks.

Shiro places the thumb of his human hand against the corner of Keith’s mouth, pressing gently before swiping across the hollow of his cheek. Before he can move away, Keith places his palm atop Shiro’s hand and holds him there. 

“Anytime we’ve been alone in the past two years – whether we’ve been stranded or the moments before we’re separated – something bad always happens,” Shiro explains. “A part of me half-expects for something bad to happen now.”

“As long as we don’t stay in the sea for too long, we won’t attract attention from the leviathan,” Keith remarks with a coy smile. He doesn’t want to think about work. Not here, not when they have one moment of peace. “We’ll be fine.”

Shiro doesn’t smile. His frown lines only deepen. “Keith, something big is happening. Something that’s going to change everything for all of us. And every time I think about it... every time I look at you, I realize how close we may be to having all of this snatched from us. We claimed Gal by the skin of our teeth. We managed to find you and your mom just before the Deadzone blew straight to hell. We’ve just found out Earth’s been invaded. Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore,” he pauses. “Maybe I’m selfish.”

“What?” Keith asks, furrowing his brows together. “What are you talking about? You’re the least selfish person I—”

“Whenever we’re on a mission, I’m always expecting that you’ll be there. That you’re my second,” Shiro says plainly. “I love Lance. I didn’t know him well when we were back home, but he’s one of the best right-hand men I could have and he’s a good friend. He’s a brilliant strategist and he figures things out before I do most of the time. He worries about me constantly… I know he does. But he isn’t you and sometimes it just drives me crazy that you’re not there.” Shiro scrubs his Galra hand through the tuft of white hair on his head and takes a shaky breath. “ _Patience Yields Focus._ You took those words so seriously. You always act like I’m keeping you grounded and in the moment, preventing you from not rushing ahead of everyone else. But Keith, you’re my guide. You push me forward, you make me want to do better, to always keep going. Even when I’m on the verge of giving up and letting someone else take command.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say. When it comes to conversations, they both would rather communicate with eye contact and unspoken words. It’s why they’ve worked so well together. Shiro, despite this, can still tell others how he feels. He isn’t choked by his own words. Elation shudders through his body as he takes another shaky breath. It’s cathartic for him to share these thoughts aloud with Keith. 

“Do you want me to come back? To the Castleship?” _To Voltron,_ Keith wants to add. 

Shiro’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, grabbing Keith’s hands in his own. “No, no, no. I mean, yes, I would love if you were closer, if you were back with us. But everyone, myself included, knows how important being with the Blades is for you. We—I don’t want to take that away from you. I just… worry about you. I know something bad is going to happen, I can feel it. We’ve had a good run so far. We’ve been winning this war. But Zarkon will eventually get tired of hunting Lotor and refocus his attack on us.”

“And we’ll be ready for him, Takashi,” Keith remarks. “We’ve got more fighters. We’ve got more rebel factions. _And_ we’ve got more territory. Zarkon may still have two-thirds of the known universe, but we’re steadily gaining the upper hand. We’ve got to have faith that we’ll beat him.”

Shiro is silent for a moment, thoughtfully chewing on the corner of his lower lip. 

“Then what happens with the druids? With Lotor?” he inquires. “We destroy Zarkon and then deal with Pidge’s dad and Lotor? How long do we stay in this war? When do we get to have our own lives again? What do we do when it’s all done? Go back to Earth or live on Gal? What’s going to happen to Hunk and Shay? Or Allura and Lance? What do they all do? Keith, I want to ma—”

Shiro’s eyes widen and Keith can only follow suit. 

“W-what?” Keith warbles. “W-what were you gonna say?”

Shiro suddenly stands up, his cheeks flushed and gaze shifting over to the Black Lion. 

“You know what? Um… Mrs. Holt and your mom made some stew for us before they left for Olkarion yesterday,” Shiro stammers. “I’m going to get it and heat it up. I don’t want it to spoil.”

And then Shiro is heading back to his Lion, speed-walking away and leaving Keith with his mouth agape. 

**

The next day, Keith doesn’t bring up whatever Shiro was about to stay. And Shiro appears sheepishly appreciative. They eat leftovers, but they won’t have enough for lunch or dinner or any other snack Keith may want to munch on throughout the day. Shiro advises that they go fishing just as the second sun is beginning to rise. 

After rubbing on sunblock that Pidge had helpfully tossed into their bags, Shiro takes Keith to a little cove that they can take their time in. The leviathan won’t be able to harass them. And Shiro can spearfish in the quiet inlet while Keith gathers the several striped clams they’d found earlier that had not been fully burrowed at the coast.

Keith is about to pry open one of the clams with his sharp nails when Shiro’s voice drifts across the inlet. 

“Don’t you dare eat that raw,” he says, laughing. “We’re on some foreign planet, not back on Earth.”

Keith pouts before shoving it in the net alongside the others. 

Shiro manages to spear four fish before a sudden tide comes in to the usually still cove. Near the horizon, the leviathan peeks its head out from beneath the green water and basks beneath the twin suns. 

They return to their small encampment on the beach, hand in hand and smiling. Shiro’s words weigh heavily on him, but he keeps it at bay. He doesn’t want to dwell on it. 

Keith washes out the empty container of stew before filling it with sea water and gently dumping the clams into it. He plans to steam them for dinner with some of the vegetables they packed before the trip. Shiro busies himself with filleting the fish as best he can, taking his time to debone each piece and then roast them on a grate over the fire. 

“What month did Mrs. Holt say it was back on Earth?” Shiro asks, flipping over the pieces of fish with a long-handled spork. 

Keith carefully places some chopped vegetables on one side of the grate. “September, I think,” he answers, shrugging.

“So, your twenty-first birthday is coming up,” Shiro smiles, prodding at one of the fish. “You know what you want to do?”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Not really. I guess the same thing we’ve done since we got to space, and Lance wanted to throw a party for Hunk.”

“Eat and watch Coran drink until he passes out,” Shiro remarks. 

“Exactly,” he grins. 

“But…” Shiro stalls for a moment. “But this is the first time you’ll be having a birthday with your parents around. Don’t you want to spend it with them?”

“I guess,” Keith shrugs again. “I mean… I haven’t really talked about it with them. We’re in the middle of a war. Eating and drinking seems easier than some stupid celebration. I don’t even know if the Galra actually celebrate birthdays.”

“I think they do,” Shiro states confidently. “The Galra are a species who honors traditions. Even if the Blades have made their own sect, you all are still Galra. You have your rites of passage. And… you are a prince in the Galran imperial family and… you’re technically a prince of the Altean royal family, too...”

“Lotor is in exile and my mother defected,” Keith says matter-of-factly. “And Allura is the princess of a people scattered and struggling to regroup. I don’t really think tradition matters right now.”

“But I’m sure they all had their announcement parties when they were born,” Shiro remarks. “Didn’t Zarkon give Allura that Galra helm after she was born?”

“What are you saying?” Keith asks tersely, agitation bleeding into his tone. 

“You didn’t really get that opportunity,” Shiro says. “And after your dad disappeared… I know you don’t want to tell your parents about the whole foster care thing, but it just bothers me that you won’t… that you don’t really—”

“Shiro, I don’t want to do it,” Keith says. “I don’t want to celebrate it like that. Everyone knows who I am anyways. Does it really matter if—”

Keith thinks about the dream again. Being born where he could have been accepted. Everyone would have known who he was. 

_“Kythel, you are the right hand of the black paladin – your grandfather, Emperor Zarkon.”_

He shakes his head, moving to get two plates and sporks. 

“You know what Allura wants to do right?” Keith asks. “With my mom’s claim?”

Shiro hesitantly nods. “With Ozar and the other Alteans? Yeah, she may have mentioned it.”

“Well, I don’t really agree. We’re trying to free people, not take over the Galra Empire. The Blade of Marmora has been trying to sabotage it from the inside for centuries. It took way too long and ended up not working. I’m just waiting for the moment Larka goes off when Allura finally tells her,” he mutters.

Shiro tries to hold back a laugh as he places the fish on the plates and scoops up the roasted vegetables to evenly distribute them. 

“It’s not funny,” Keith deadpans. 

“It really is,” Shiro states. “The both of you don’t know how alike you are.”

A smile cracks across Keith’s face.

They spend the rest of the day surfing. Keith wipes out six times before he finally gets the hang of it. Shiro takes to it like a natural despite his initial struggle at catching a wave. Tired of fighting and dancing with the churning sea and swelling waves, they rest naked on the sand with their fingers tangled together. Shiro dozes as they bask beneath the suns, a small smile on his face and his thick eyelashes resting against his high cheekbones. 

When the first sun begins to set again, Keith hurries to steam the clams and cut the fruit, leaving Shiro to rest near the shore. He prods at the fire, adds another log, before heading back into the tent to change into a pair of clean shorts. 

He hears the shuffle of feet against sand outside the doorway. He turns around just in time to see Shiro entering the tent, moving silently as he puts on his own pair of shorts. 

“How long was I out?” he asks. 

“Not long,” Keith answers, busying his hands with a few shirts before he puts his arms into a sleeveless top. He tosses one at Shiro, who catches it in midair. 

“Must have been more exhausted than I thought,” Shiro remarks, pulling the shirt over his head.

“Hmm.” Keith hums absentmindedly. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

**

It’s the early hours of the morning. The green glowing moon sits high in the navy sky. Stars twinkle from quadrants away. Keith can’t sleep. It’s too warm inside the tent, stuffy and heated. Try as he might, he can’t fall asleep. His skin his dewy with sweat and Shiro’s warm Galra arm is wrapped around his waist. It’s a heavy weight that makes his belly stir. 

Keith tries to shrug of the limb, but Shiro’s grip only tightens, dragging Keith back towards him. He murmurs in his sleep. Slowly, Keith twists in his arms until he faces the paladin. 

Shiro sleeps just as he had earlier that day. Thick lashes resting lightly on damp skin. Keith can’t help himself. Leaning closer, he licks his dry lips before pressing them against Shiro’s lazy smile. His nose grazes over Shiro’s cheek, inhaling the sweet tang of sweat and salt and aftershave. He shifts in closer, craving the smell and taste of Shiro. Keith kisses his jaw, making his way down the column of his neck and scrapes his teeth across more damp skin. Shiro shivers against him, his prosthetic gripping Keith tighter. He can feel the hardening length of Shiro’s cock pressed against his leg, hot and straining. 

Keith’s throat runs dry, his hands clasping Shiro’s broad shoulders. For a brief moment, Keith stares at his lavender hands, presses his clawed fingers against the few scars littered across the human’s skin. He can feel himself stiffening within his own shorts and the strange wetness smearing between his thighs, the tight feeling as his sheath begins to pull back. The heady throb in his belly has turned into a churning ache. Keith whimpers, trying to keep himself from rutting against Shiro. 

Strong hands travel across his belly, nudging him onto his back. The pillows and blankets stick to his feverish skin. He trembles when Shiro’s hands pull at the waist of his shorts. 

“You don’t want to sleep tonight?” Shiro asks, a smirk playing at his lips. 

Keith shakes his head. 

“You know… I was trying to be careful with you,” Shiro says before kissing the corner of Keith’s mouth. “I wanted to take my time with you.”

“It’s been a while,” Keith murmurs, scrubbing his fingers against the velvet feel of Shiro’s undercut. 

It truly has. The last time they were this intimate was when they had finally settled into a routine back on Arus, before Sendak and Haxus had wreaked havoc on them. Before they launched recklessly into an endless war. Before Keith discovered he was Kythel, the missing Galra prince. But Keith wants this. He wants this more than anything. Just this pocket of solace in the midst of a battlefield. 

Shiro must read this in his expression because he leans forward, hands trailing against his lavender hips, and kisses him. It is scorching like a fire that consumes life. It’s too much when he feels Shiro’s tongue slip into his mouth, feels the curl of Shiro’s hand against his damp cock. 

His hands hold onto Shiro’s shoulders as he gives a clumsy thrust into the loose grip. Keith pulls away from Shiro’s lips, a thread of spit snapping apart as he shifts back against the pillows. That’s not what he wants. The ache is lower, deeper. But the words don’t want to come out. 

“Shiro…”

“What is it, Keith?” Shiro whispers, warm breath fanning across Keith’s cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” he answers, his grip tightening. 

Shiro tosses him another smile. “Tell me what you want, Keith.”

“Inside,” he murmurs, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Want you inside.”

“Where?” Shiro’s voice has almost dropped an octave. The black paladin is pulling off his pants, flinging them behind him only to hurry with his own. “Where, Keith? Where do you want me?”

His cheeks are a deep violet, a blush that crawls down his neck and spreads to his chest. 

“You know where,” he mutters, gritting his teeth. “Stop being a—” Keith lets out a sharp squeal when Shiro pinches a sensitive nipple. 

Even though Shiro waits for his next words, he doesn’t hesitate to trace his hand down to his Keith’s cock. He rubs his fingers across the soft barbs, thumbing at the head before slipping down, past his balls and to the leaking slit behind. Shiro rubs his thumb across the tight opening. 

“Is it here, babe?” Shiro asks, his voice syrupy and dark. “Is this where you want it?” 

Keith whines, moving his hips, pressing down. Just a little bit more to ease this taut feeling in his belly. Shiro pulls his hand away with a smirk, the weight settling on his thigh. 

“Shiro…”

“You’re so wet,” the paladin murmurs as he easily sinks his forefinger and middle finger inside. 

Keith clenches, back arching off the blankets as he throws an arm across his face. “Don’t talk like that,” he says breathless. 

“Why? I thought you liked that,” Shiro grins, slowly pumping his fingers. 

“You’re embarrassing me, Takashi. Please…” 

Shiro pulls his fingers out, shifting over to brush Keith’s arm from his face. “Don’t look away.”

Keith turns to him. Shiro’s gray eyes have darkened, intense and nearly swallowed by black pupils. Keith leans in for a kiss, just when Shiro prods against him and thrusts forward. He lets out a cry at that first sweet stretch, his legs encircling Shiro to pull him in deeper. 

“…you okay?” Shiro asks, burying his face into Keith’s neck. 

Keith nods, “Just feels different.” 

He feels Shiro smile against his skin, his hands curling into Keith’s thick hair as he gives a tentative thrust. The prince grits his teeth, the ache in his belly dwindling at the sudden push and pull. A sultry sensation like snug ribbons unfurling within him travels down his body. 

“What the—” Shiro growls.

“They’re tendrils,” Keith gasps, face flushed, head pulled back. “Just deal with it…”

Shiro chuckles. “Can you control them?” 

Keith shakes his head. “Instinct. They just—”

“—they move on instinct?”

Keith nods again. He grips Shiro’s shoulders to keep himself grounded. He meets each of Shiro's thrusts, deep strokes that send Keith mewling and gasping. His tendrils grip Shiro’s length, pulling and clenching. He is drenched, stretched so full. Shiro’s hands feel like hot iron against his heated flesh. He gasps when teeth graze one of his nipples, licking across his chest. He arches his back, tightening around Shiro. The Galra arm, metal and overheated, wraps around Keith’s cock. It tugs once, twice—

White lilac-tinged come splatters across his belly and dots his chest. But something doesn’t feel right, almost like he’s incomplete. He clenches around Shiro, his tendrils pulling the human in deeper. Keith whimpers. His shoulder feels heavy and swollen. Shiro pants in his ear, his trembling mouth so close to Keith’s bonding gland. 

“Bite me,” Keith gasps, clinging to him like he'll float away. 

Shiro doesn’t even falter. Doesn’t even ask him why. Driven by some base human instinct, Shiro sinks his teeth into the puffy, enflamed flesh. Keith shudders, convulsing around him. His legs tighten while his nails dig deep into the skin of Shiro’s shoulder blades. His head falls back against the cushions. His tendrils pull at the cock inside, trying to draw him in deeper. Shiro’s teeth break the skin of Keith’s bonding gland. He comes hard and wet with a strained cry pouring from his mouth, his hips stuttering as Keith clenches around him.

They don’t move. Keith holds Shiro steady, keeps him there until he softens and slips out. The wind coming off the sea rolls into the tent, causing the curtains to billow. It’s a chilly breeze against their sweaty bodies and when Keith shivers, Shiro finally pulls away. He flops on his back beside Keith before pulling a few blankets across them. 

Keith still shudders and shivers, curling up closer as if he’s still controlled by his orgasm. Shiro tugs at his hair, yanking him into a deep kiss that leaves them both panting. 

“Again?” Keith asks.

Shiro lets out a breathless laugh. “Again? Really?”

Keith grins, nodding. 

“Give me a second,” Shiro say, smoothing back the hair from Keith’s damp forehead. He presses a kiss to his temple and noses at his hairline. “I promise.”

Keith finally wakes up when the second sun has risen. There’s a pleasant ache between his legs, but the space beside him is empty. Keith gingerly sits up, slowly rising to his feet. It feels like Shiro wiped him down, cleaning him up before leaving him with a piece of fruit on a plate. 

Keith bites into it as he walks down the length of the beach. The juices coat his fingers, dribbling down his wrist. 

“Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” Shiro asks from behind him. 

Keith grins, looking out towards the horizon. “Too lazy.”

“Don’t get too comfortable doing this,” Shiro teases. “You can’t be walking naked down the halls of the Castleship.”

Keith is about to make some sarcastic remark when Shiro grabs him around the waist and kisses him. 

“Put some clothes on,” Shiro says. “We’re going hiking.”

**

Keith’s legs ache the next day. They hiked for hours in a very unfamiliar terrain and by the time they made it back to their camp, a chill had set in.

He reminds himself that this isn’t Earth. It’s not even Arus or Olkarion or Gal. They have to lug out some heating equipment from Black’s cargo bay to setup in the tent after the campfire finally sputters out, the wood damp and musty. 

The first patter of heavy rain forces them to move up the beach just in case of some unforeseen flooding or dangerous waterspouts that may creep up on them. Keith is grateful that Shiro had gone fishing while he got a chance to sleep the day before. They eat the insides of bizarre-shaped urchins, steamed clams, and fruit. They play some card games until they fall asleep to the sound of rain and the rumbling of thunder. 

A communicator buzzes, pulling Keith from his slumber. Shiro groans by his side. 

“Turn it off,” he mumbles into his pillow.

Keith turns over, blindly reaching for his communicator. It stops buzzing the moment his fingers wrap around it. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, Keith touches the device and swipes it open. Kolivan’s name blinks on the screen.

“What does it say?” Shiro asks.

“My team is one of the ones chosen for the Base Kuron-3 mission,” he murmurs.

“You don’t sound happy?” 

Keith swallows before placing the communicator off to the side. He shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I may have completed my training, but Kolivan keeps putting my team on increasingly difficult missions. He trusts me, but I think he does it to keep me busy. It’s probably going to be a tough mission if he wants nine Blades on it.”

Shiro props his elbow up to hold his head. “So… it’s not a stealth mission?”

“Infiltration and sabotage,” Keith grits out. “And with the possibility of…”

“Mick being alive?”

Keith nods. 

Shiro threads a comforting hand through Keith’s hair. 

“It will be fine. We’ve got to have faith that we’ll beat them, right?” Shiro asks. 

Keith smiles, recognizing the words he said the first day they arrived to this little piece of paradise. He remembers the words Shiro was about to say. Marriage? Could they do that? Could they keep putting it off while they fought in a war? A war that could lead to their deaths. 

Keith thumbs at Shiro’s lower lip, sees the flicker of a pink tongue against the pad of his digit. 

“I love you, Takashi,” he says, pulling his hand away. 

If something happened, if Shiro really was gone with no chance of survival or being found, could Keith keep going? Would Shiro keep going if Keith made that sacrifice? 

“I love you too, Keith.”

He would have to.

**

On their last day, Keith and Shiro swim in the pale green waters closest to the shore. The twin suns are back, clearing out the dark skies. In the distant, even the leviathan basks on the surface of the emerald sea again. They pack up their gear around noon, loading it up into Black’s cargo bay, and then cleanup their campsite. 

A part of Keith doesn’t want to leave. They could live here forever, but that isn’t the reality they live in.

He is a Blade and Shiro is a Paladin.


	11. A Druid's Obscurity

The mission to Base Kuron-3 is treacherous. A pungent air of anxiety percolated through the streets of Gal before they had left. From Ryou’s coordinates and the additional intel gathered from their time on Earth, the final base is deep in the heart of Galra country, tucked in a quadrant bustling with cargo ships and freighters. Keith holds his breath when Antok activates the cloaking mechanism, flicking a silver switch on the dashboard of their large-class cruiser. It’s the first of its kind, used by the Blade of Marmora and made with a mix of Galra and Olkari technology. The Blades all look uneasy, so accustomed to smaller, stealth vehicles. But the coalition brings something different and Thace has more time on his hands these days to tinker around with the older ships and build entire new ones. 

“Take her in smooth,” Thace murmurs. 

“I know how to pilot this,” Antok mutters under his breath. 

Out of the corner of his vision, Keith sees an unmasked Thace crack a smile. 

“I’m sure you do,” Thace remarks, “but this zone is well trafficked. It would take only a tick for us to get sideswiped by some freighter.”

Antok chuffs in annoyance. Thace ignores it, busying himself with the screens in front of him. Holographic maps of the base project from the screen like three-dimensional figures. 

Keith’s group wasn’t the only team picked for this mission. His mother’s team, consisting of Ulaz and Dorma, are supposed to serve as the Blades selected to gather information from the laboratories. Kolivan, Antok, and Thace have come along for the ride. _Sabotage and muscle,_ Antok had joked. He didn’t think that their leader would have wanted to take this direction, openly striking at the enemy so blatantly. Keith had thought that he would have opted for directing the mission from the Marmora headquarters and keeping Antok and Thace out of the field. But once again, Kolivan surprises him. Or perhaps Kolivan regrets not being on Earth to see the druid’s nest with his own two eyes. 

They’re not just fighting the Galra Empire anymore. There are powers at play, more than Kolivan had originally acknowledged. 

They pass a cargo ship docking at a nearby transportation hub, a few small-class cruisers patrolling a haloed orange moon, and a fleet leaving the quadrant’s borders.

“Why would he hide his base in plain sight?” Keith asks aloud. “It doesn’t seem smart to just stick one of his most used bases in the middle of an Imperial zone.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Antok says. “Do you think he’s had Haggar’s protection this entire time?”

“Let’s not assume anything as of yet,” Thace comments.

Keith grits his teeth. 

“Maybe we should have interrogated that druid you picked up on Earth,” Antok continues as if Thace hadn’t just said _shut up_ in the nicest way possible.

Iverson. 

Keith clenches his fists together. When they arrived home from their vacation, Shiro had left him on Gal and immediately returned back to the Castle of Lions. That night, before Keith had tucked himself into bed, Shiro had called him. The black paladin had plunged himself back into his work and thawed Iverson out for questioning. The Altean druid had been silent, increasingly so during Allura’s part of the interrogation. 

_“If he won’t talk to Princess Peach, tell Keith that we should let Mama Larka take a whack at the old man. Maybe some Galra torture would do him good,”_ Keith had heard Ryou in the background.

 _“He’s a corrupted Altean druid,”_ Hunk had taken over the conversation. _“He’s probably just as trained in being a recipient of torture as any other Blade would be.”_

Keith had to agree with Hunk. Team Voltron had then iced Iverson once again, shoving him back into a sleep pod.

 _“We’ll reconvene once you guys get back.”_ And with those words, their call ended. 

Keith shrugged off the coils of irritation. Was it so bad if they – the good guys – tortured a man who seemed to have been gleeful back on Earth? A man who had refused to tell Keith what had happened to Shiro. A man who had already known what had happened. Iverson was an invader from another planet.

“We can’t be like Zarkon,” Keith mutters.

“Kythel,” Thace says.

Keith’s eyes flicker up to catch his father’s gaze. How long had he been watching Keith’s internal turmoil?

“We have to do what is necessary.”

They aren’t the words he wants to hear, but they’ll do for now. Keith nods once, before standing up from his seat in the cockpit.

“How close are we?” 

“Nearly there,” Antok says, acting as if he wasn’t eavesdropping on the father and son. “We’re nearing a red giant. It’s late in life. Seems stable right now.” He taps a clawed finger against one of the screens on the dashboard. “But why in the Ancients would they want to put a base and so many hubs out here when anything can happen?”

“Is it shedding?” Thace asks. 

“See for yourself,” Antok mutters. “We’re about to pass it.”

Keith squeezes in between Antok’s seat and where his father is standing and peers out the front window. The red-orange sun is hazy in the distance, unfurling blue and red wisps. Even farther sits another but more stable star. 

“Do you think Lotor or the druids think that no one will cause trouble for their science base when it’s near this…” Keith gestures at the clouded star.

“Kythel, tell everyone to get ready,” Thace says, turning back to his maps. “We need to get in and out. That’s it. No detours. We find out what we need from these druids, rescue Mick, and get out. No unnecessary risks.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, turning to leave the cockpit. “Was that advice for me or Mom?”

“Both,” he hears Antok chuckle.

Keith finds the rest of the three teams gearing up in the cargo bay of the cruiser. 

“We almost there?” Umaala asks. 

“Almost,” Keith answers. “But this entire area looks unstable.”

“It is teeming with Galra,” Dorma remarks. 

“It’s not just that,” Keith presses on. “Dying star to our starboard.” 

Larka’s head snaps up from where she had been focused on tightening a utility belt around Umaala’s waist. She raises an eyebrow. “Why would they put this many outposts out here then?”

“That’s what Antok asked,” Keith murmurs. “I’m not gonna pretend like I know what Zarkon or Haggar are thinking.”

Umaala bites back a laugh. 

Footsteps slam down the staircase to the cargo hold, interrupting the brief and playful mood.

“We’ve got a problem,” Thace says, halfway down the stairs. “Kolivan, Larka… you have to see this.”

The Blade disappears back up the stairs and through the doorway leading to the cockpit. 

“Prepare like you have been,” Kolivan doles out the order. “Larka, Keith, come with me.”

Sweat beads at Keith’s forehead beneath his Marmora mask. He races after them, his boots slamming down on each metal slat. When they enter the cockpit, Antok is just where he had left him. Still sitting in the main pilot seat, tapping away at the various screens on the dashboard with one hand while the other keeps a tight grip on the flight controls. 

“What happened?” 

“It looks like there may be a reason why there is so much traffic,” Thace says, pointing out at a debris field. 

Kolivan squints, looking out the front window. “What is that?”

“Looks like they weren’t going to just decommission the Kuron-3, but the entire quadrant along with it,” Antok says.

“They’re evacuating,” Larka remarks, eyes wide. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Keith asks aloud. 

“It looks like they’ve been clearing out for quintants,” Thace adds. “Before we even thought of getting here.”

“Looks like they were planning to leave even before we went to Earth,” Larka mumbles.

“Doesn’t answer the question of why Lotor would set up shop out here,” Keith says, folding his arms over his chest. 

“What about the base? Can you scan everything nearby?” Larka asks.

“We did,” Thace says. There’s something strange in his voice, a wariness that asserts itself along with the critical twinkle in his yellow eyes. 

Kolivan and Larka look at him expectantly. Thace turns away to tap at a console, pulling up a large rotating map.

“I did a scan of the area,” his father continues. “We found the location of the base, right where Ryou had said it was. Tucked away on an asteroid.”

“But…?” Keith prompts.

“There are no heat signatures. No sentry movements. It looks like they packed up and left,” Thace explains.

Keith grits his teeth. He tastes blood on his tongue.

“What else?” Larka asks. “What? We just turn around and go back home?”

Kolivan shares a silent look with Thace that sets Keith’s teeth on edge again. 

“We could be flying right into a trap,” Kolivan finally says. 

“And what if there’s information?” Larka questions. “What if there’s vital information still there?”

“We can go back to Gal, contact the paladins, and question the druid,” Kolivan answers. 

“We should check—”

“They’re evacuating this quadrant,” Kolivan says. “They’re leaving because Haggar ordered it. We have enough reason to suspect that Haggar is protecting Lotor and that she’s working with Solthro.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “What? How do you—”

“She’s allowed them to stay here for this long,” Kolivan states.

“We don’t know that,” Larka murmurs. “We’d have a clearer picture if we get on that base.”

The cockpit is quiet save for the steady hum of the consoles, the beeping of multiple screens, and the groaning of the space vessel. 

“Fine,” Kolivan relents. “How close are we?”

“Approaching,” Antok says, voice strained. “Five doboshes.”

“We’re still cloaked?”

Thace nods. “Pidge and I worked on some of the sensors four quintants ago. They won’t even know we’re here.”

Kolivan sighs. “Alright, I’ll finish preparing the others. Try to find a place to dock.”

Kolivan disappears through the doorway and down the stairs radiating mild disappointment. Antok finally takes his eyes off the front window. 

“He’s angry and thinks we’d have better luck tracking down Lotor’s latest location,” Antok admits.

“This could be that lead,” Keith says. 

“I know that,” Antok remarks. “Kolivan knows that. But the likelihood that anything—”

“If we don’t take this chance,” Keith starts, “that means following those supply lines was for nothing.” 

“This is Lotor’s last base of operations,” Thace remarks. “He can’t stay here with Zarkon following him, correct? So, we don’t know the last time he was here.”

“The intel from Earth said the last log was a fort-quint ago,” Keith murmurs, looking down at his feet as if he was just chided by his sire. “There has to be something left if they’re still evacuating the area.” 

“We’re here,” Antok says. 

Keith looks up. A red asteroid the color of dark bricks restlessly floats in space. It looks eerily similar to the Marmora headquarters. The thorny, metal space station is built into the asteroid. Twin satellite spires are snapped in half, hanging on by a few threads of wiring. The docks are open and relatively empty, with only one spot taken by a strange emergency pod. It takes a few tries for Antok to steer the cruiser into one of the narrow, free spots and for the airlock to seal. 

“You ready, son?” Thace says, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezing gently.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Keith says, nodding.

By the time the four of them make it out of the cruiser, the other Blades are already outside in the loading dock. Their objective was supposed to be completed with their large group breaking into teams of three. They were supposed to separate and gather intel about Lotor’s latest endeavors, Solthro’s latest experiments, and their connections to Hagger. They were supposed to clean out the laboratories, burn it all to the ground, and take quintessence samples. The mission would end when they found Mick Kogane, bloodied and bruised but still alive. 

Keith quickly realizes that none if it will happen. 

Like the twin satellite spires atop the space station, wires are strewn across the floor in tangled heaps. Circuitry panels and consoles have been torn from the walls and flooring. The space station is one behemoth of a ghost ship lodged deep into the side of an asteroid rock. Dread fills the pit of his stomach. The druids had a week to scrap all the evidence and they did not waste time. It was obvious that once they had received word from Earth that the Blades and Paladins were spotted on Earth and that Colleen Holt was missing from her fancy cell deep underground, the druids here had cleared out and taken whatever evidence they had with them. 

“Quiznak,” Ulaz drawls, the word echoing down the cold and silent corridor leading to the main sub-level. 

“We should have gotten here the moment we realized what was up,” Keith murmurs. “This is my fault. I should have—”

“We all needed a break,” Umaala cuts in, sternly. “Don’t think that just because you and your paladin soldier boy disappeared beachside for a few quintants, that this is suddenly your fault. Don’t be an ass, Kythel.”

“We’ve been working nonstop,” Regris adds, “and spread thin, even with the additional recruits. Umaala is right. This isn’t your fault.”

“They cleared out before we could get here,” Dorma mumbles, taking a step forward. “I wonder if there is any evidence they left in the laboratories.”

“I can pull up Ryou’s schematics,” Thace says, tapping at his wrist device. “We’ll find the laboratories.”

“And what?” Antok asks decisively. “Find out that those clone pods are empty. We need to stop gathering information and just cut off the head of their leadership.”

“And who is that?” Ulaz bites back. “Haggar? Lotor? Solthro? Do you even think for a tick that Zarkon is aware of this, when he’s been so utterly focused on the Lions of Voltron? His forces are fractured, fighting over control of resources and leadership. Even with Zarkon taking command once more, we know there are more than one group working behind the scenes. We just need to regroup, think this over a bit more and—”

“We’re leaving,” Kolivan’s voice breaks through the silence of the corridor and Ulaz’s rambling. “Hazar, come in.”

“Leader?” Hazar’s deep voice streams through all of their communication links. “What is wrong?”

“They’ve taken everything. We’re leaving ahead of schedule.”

“We’re just gonna leave before we figure anything out?” Keith questions.

“Everything is gone, Kythel. We need to leave and refocus on Lotor,” Kolivan growls. “Solthro can wait.”

“My dad can’t wait!” Keith shouts. “He’s been taken hostage. He could be dead by now. We need to find him. That was part of the plan.”

“We don’t have any leads,” Kolivan remarks tersely, his voice a beat away from shouting back. 

“Kythel,” Thace says, placing a hand on Keith’s arm. “Ulaz is right. We need to regroup, reorganize, figure out why they were in such a hurry and see if Haggar was in on this. If Ryou is right, then she should have been the one to decommission this site and she didn’t. We need to figure out why. Yelling here isn’t going to help.”

Thace is right of course, but hot rage travels through Keith’s chest. He's mildly glad that he is covered by his mask, so no one can see the fury written across his face. 

_“I know something bad is going to happen, I can feel it.”_ Keith remembers Shiro’s words back at the beach. Soft light drenching and haloing Shiro’s strong frame. Worry woven across his features as he gazed back at Keith. The scar across the bridge of his nose wrinkling as he scrunched up his face to battle the glare of the twin suns. _“We’ve had a good run so far. We’ve been winning this war. But Zarkon…”_

But Zarkon will always desire the Black Lion. And what Keith learned at those uncomfortable grandfather-grandson dinners was that as long as Larka, Allura, and Lotor keep out of his way, the Galran emperor won’t fight them. But keeping out of the way is something that his estranged children and niece will not do. Larka and Allura will continue to fight him and Lotor will continue to plot against him. 

_“I don’t need an heir. You are here because I need a paladin.”_ Zarkon’s true goal echoes in Keith’s head. He wants to control Voltron. He needs it. But why? What would he do with it once he gained that power? And how did this all connect to Haggar’s own goals? The druid from the Zerarax mission had implanted that dream sequence into his mind. They had manipulated his thoughts… or were they trying to tell him something. An amalgamation of designs that could come to fruition if Zarkon won this war.

“Mom,” Keith starts, turning to face her, “what do you—?

He meets the empty space Larka had once filled the moment they had stepped into the adjacent corridor to the cargo hold.

“Quiznak,” Antok groans. “Who took their eyes off her?”

~~

Larka crouches on the ground, staring at the scraggly space cat.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, stretching her hand out with a palm raised. “Wandering around here? Eavesdropping on people arguing? Hmm?”

Kova slowly paces over, sniffing at Larka’s gloved fingers. With her other hand, she scratches at Kova’s forehead. 

“And where is your current mistress?” Larka inquires.

The cat meows, moving closer to rub between her open palms. 

Larka chuffs. “I feel like this was all a trap. Did Ryou lie to us?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Thace says behind her. “Haggar is his original handler?”

“Are you talking about Kova or Ryou?” Larka ponders aloud, still looking at the purring space cat. 

“Both.” 

Larka can practically hear the smirk on his face.

“We’re all looking for you,” Thace remarks. “And you turned off your comm link. What’s going on?”

“I saw a flash of fur and went after it,” Larka says, grabbing hold of Kova and lifting him as she stands. “You all are arguing over something we can’t control. I followed a possible lead instead of listening to all that nonsense.”

“You should put him down,” Thace says, walking towards her. “He could be a spy.”

“Of course he’s a spy,” Larka admits. “We just need to find _his_ handler.” 

_You shouldn’t be here._ The familiar whispered voice is cloying. The air is suddenly thick and dense with magic.

Thace grabs Larka, pulling her back against him just as Kova springs from her arms. The space cat lands on his small paws and lopes over to Narti, slipping between her legs and rubbing his fur against her boots.

_You’ve set things into motion that I don’t even know about._

Larka balls her hands into fists, the only thing keeping her steady is the warmth radiating from her husband. She hears the deep tense growl crawling up from within his chest, his hands gripping her tight.

“Why are you here?” Larka asks. 

_Why would you go to Earth?_

Larka takes a deep breath, turning towards Thace. 

“This is Narti. One of Lotor’s generals and the one who told Kythel and I about the Earth experiment,” she explains, gesturing to the hooded figure.

 _I asked you a question, princess,_ Narti whispers.

“You were the one who mentioned that there was an experiment happening on Earth,” Larka grits out. “The same planet where I put my son on. Was it mere coincident that I had also hidden the Blue Lion there? Was it coincidental that four of the paladins come from that planet? What were we supposed to do when you gave us crucial intel that has shaped how we look at this war?”

_It wasn’t an invitation._

The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall doesn’t even faze Narti. She only stands there, her cat coiled around her ankles. 

“Dad! Did you find—?”

The rest of the Blades stumble upon the scene and Larka can only imagine what they all look like. 

“Narti?” Keith breathes.

_Hello, Prince Kythel. It is good to see you alive._

“What’s going on?” Kolivan asks.

“Narti was just explaining to me what happened here,” Larka remarks. “Weren’t you?”

Narti shifts on her feet. She's outnumbered, nine to one, but there is still the possibility that Ezor could be hidden in the shadows.

 _Malax left the base vargas before you arrived. Vargas before I even arrived,_ she whispers. _Lotor sent me here to survey the area and see if Haggar had finally dispatched men. But… as you can see we are still here and the proximity alarms have not gone off yet._

“Where is Mick Kogane?” Keith asks, darkly. “Were there any other prisoners here? Were they human?”

_I told you once… I do not know what these druids are fully doing. They are in communication with Prince Lotor, but I suspect that even he does not know who they’re loyal to._

“That’s ridiculous,” Larka says. “He wouldn’t just trust random druids to oversee his experiments. He regularly tested our loyalty when Kythel and I were aboard the Deadzone. And even then, he never let me meet with the scientists that he claimed to have. You and I both know Lotor doesn’t simply trust anyone who begs at his feet.”

“Are you working for Haggar?” Kolivan asks. 

Narti tilts her head in his direction. Kova sits on his haunches, lazily assessing the Marmora leader. 

_My sire was a Galran druid. He passed away approximately ten deca-phoebs ago. He was at an undisclosed base that only Haggar knew about. One day there was an accident. A piece of equipment had malfunctioned and killed him and everyone else in the laboratory._

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Kolivan growls. 

Dorma pushes past him, hands crossed over her chest. “So, what?” The Blade grits out. “Your father worked for Haggar and then she took you in. To do what? Make you watch over her son after Larka went AWOL?”

 _Deep down, I believe Haggar is fully aware of what she does and who she once was._ There is a hint of amusement in her shadowy whispers. _While she was being corrupted, she had enough cognitive sense to hide the energy samples she had taken from the rift with the help of President Trigel of the Dalterion Belt._

“That still doesn’t answer his question,” Keith murmurs.

Larka grits her teeth, turning towards Thace. “I don’t believe it. That woman doesn’t remember anything besides the fact that she should remain loyal to Zarkon. And I don’t even think that she understands why. The corruption is too deep.”

“You think Narti is working with her?” Thace glances at Lotor’s general.

“How else would she get Kova? An orphaned half-Galran girl adopted by the High Priestess and trained in the art of espionage?” Larka ponders.

“Sounds like a folktale,” Thace quips.

“Truly inspiring.” There’s no humor in Larka’s voice and Narti’s story only stirs more curiosity. Honerva, and by extension Haggar, had never been deeply invested in caring for children. Her own or others.

 _I wish to propose a truce,_ Narti whispers. 

“What?” Keith asks.

Larka narrows her eyes. “Why would we agree to a truce when we have nothing to gain from you?”

“You haven’t answered any of our questions,” Thace adds. “You’ve only created more.”

“You keep dangling threads of information out in front of us,” Kolivan remarks. “A truce works both ways. And we’ve gained nothing from listening to your stories.”

 _You’ve gained everything and yet you will look no further,_ Narti shrugs. _I thought the Blade of Marmora profits from knowledge._

Thace sighs loudly and steps forward. “What sort of truce?”

 _I’m still doing my own research, attempting to learn about everything my father was researching at the undisclosed base. I’m still trying to discover why Lord Solthro is so adamant about providing assistance to Prince Lotor and why High Priestess Haggar has allowed us such an extensive leash,_ Narti pauses. _I should mention to you, Prince Kythel, that Base Kuron-3 was the same base that your mate was transferred to when he was in captivity. It is where he met Lord Solthro and where they attempted to sway him with a familiar face. Thankfully for you, your Champion was not so easily swayed._

Larka watches as her son disables his mask and stares at Lotor’s general with wide, frightened eyes.

“What?” he gasps.

 _This is but a taste of the information I’ve gathered or that I’m privy to,_ Narti nods. _Although we’ve used this base frequently, the time when the Champion had met Lord Solthro was a time when we were not here. I can gather more information and send it to your frequency._

“In exchange for what?” Kolivan asks, outstretching his arm to hold Keith back.

 _I will find where this Mick Kogane is, where he’s being kept. I’ll delve deep into the folds of Lord Solthro’s ranks to learn his secrets. But in exchange,_ Narti pauses, _there will come a time when I will call upon the Blade of Marmora to do me a favor._

Something buzzes on Narti’s wrist. In the same moment, Larka hears the steady beeping from her own wrist device, telling her to open up her communication link. As if on autopilot, Keith answers the call through his own audio feed. 

“What is it?” he asks, agitation winding him tight. He’s taut and tense and ready to spring on Narti. They need to leave. “What?!” 

Keith looks over at Narti, gaze questioning. 

“We’re on our way to provide backup,” Keith says and then turns to Kolivan. “Shiro just said that Team Voltron is observing Zarkon in action. He’s destroying some of Lotor’s ships.”

 _It seems that Prince Lotor is requesting my assistance as well,_ Narti whispers. _Princess Larka, our truce is built on the success of this deal. Do I have your word?_

“If you betray us,” Larka starts, hands curling at her sides. “I’ll kill you.”

Narti tilts her head once more. Larka imagines that she’s smiling, cold and manipulative. 

_Loyalists of Lotor and the Blade of Marmora will make a righteous alliance in the phoebs to come,_ Narti whispers. Before Larka can throw some scathing retort or Keith can pepper the general with more questions, Narti and Kova disappear in a cloud of dark ethereal wisps.


	12. End of an Era, Part One

“You up yet?” Thace knocks at the open doorway for the fourth time that morning. 

Children’s screaming laughter echoes down the street, breaking Keith free from his morning daydream. At one of the old druid buildings near the archival temple, some of the Gal citizens took the initiative to start a school for the Galran children too young to fight or train with the Blades. Ever since that fort-quint ago, all Keith hears is innocent shouts and giggles on every corner and piece of public transportation in the growing city. It’s a routine that he didn’t think could exist with these people. Tee-osh’s rebels, a group of diverse aliens searching for refuge, have come to live on Gal with their own children attending the school too. But it’s tantalizing to see his own people rebuilding their own society without the stench of Zarkon’s autocracy hovering over it. 

“Yeah,” Keith mutters, scrubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

“Well, grab some rations in the kitchen and meet me at the airfield,” his father says, a smile on his lips. “We’re leaving for Olkarion in a varga.”

“Wait,” Keith says, rising to prop himself up on his elbows. 

Thace stops, turning to lean back against the door frame. “Hmm?”

“Did Mom leave yet?” 

“A while ago,” he says. “Left with Colleen a bit after sunrise.”

Keith chuffs in annoyance, dramatically throwing himself back onto his pillows. His eyes are burning, sensitive to the warm sunlight streaming through his open window. 

“I’m serious, Kythel,” Thace mutters once more before turning to leave. “Get up.”

Keith runs a hand down his face as hears his father walking through the hall and into the parlor. The chime of the front door opening and closing tells him that Thace is gone. Peace and stillness fills the domicile. No people running in and out at all times of the day. No dog barking to be fed before running out of the house to chase a gaggle of people. No bellows of laughter from Hunk or Antok. Just silence. A headache thuds behind his eyes and he squeezes them shut to ease the pain. 

The last thing he wants to do right now is go to a coalition meeting. Keith finally rises from his bed, wishing he could sleep until midday. What happened to making calls from the communication building? Didn’t Kolivan have a handle on that? But in the last couple of phoebs, there seemed to be a coalition meeting every fort-quint and he could feel the tension in the air. 

Just the other day, Matt and Olia had mentioned that Tee-osh was staying at the Balmera. She wanted to ready some recruits and cut the Blades some slack after they took her and her people in. But in handling the training of the refugees, that meant she wouldn’t be attending coalition meetings for the next several phoebs. That left Ozar in charge and Keith wasn’t quite ready to meet him again. Would he and Allura approach Larka about their plans? Or would they keep quiet until after the meeting was dealt with? 

It was clear that a mission was going to take place. It was what made the air so tense. Something big was happening, just like Shiro said. The moment they returned from Base Kuron-3, the nine Blades flew to the Castleship and relayed everything that Narti had explained. They took those few doboshes to hesitantly watch as Zarkon blasted a few remnants of Lotor’s ships to smithereens. Lotor had ran with his tail tucked between his legs. 

It had to be embarrassing. To be planning so much and for it to be a fruitless effort. Whatever his goals were, he wouldn’t be able to complete them with a bounty on his head and his father chasing after him. 

While aboard the Castle of Lions, his mother had even tried to interrogate Iverson. She tried to pull apart his mind, slink in and learn his secrets. But Iverson was a druid. He wasn’t so easily swayed. It wasn’t until she dropped one name that he started to fidget: Lieutenant Drak. 

Keith remembers the public service announcement that Zarkon sent out system wide. When he had claimed Lotor was an enemy of the state and poured all his resources into hunting down his estranged son instead of reclaiming the Black Lion. On the holo-screen, Lieutenant Drak had been interviewed by a reporter. But the most crucial fact was that she also worked for Pidge’s father, Lord Solthro. Just mentioning Drak’s name made Iverson squirm. Not out of fear for his safety, but fear that they were learning too much. 

“You may not tell us now. You may not tell us the next time we pull you out of this pod, but sooner or later one of your druids will slip up,” his mother had whispered into Iverson’s ear. “And I’ll make sure one of my Blades is there to put them down.”

It was an open-ended threat. The only insider they had was Narti and who knew if she could be fully trusted. But he was sure that his mother was betting on Narti becoming an ally.

Keith takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth, freshening up before starting his day with the dried rations Thace left out. He’d rather eat something more filling, but they would have to do for now. He shovels them into his mouth as he walks down the street, taking one of the hover-buses to the airfield, even while he craves for something mint-flavored. Those nasty green chips that Matt and Hunk are always eating. Yeah, he could totally go for those. 

The ride to the airfield is not so crowded, but the base is. Keith can see koldaks, a scaly and lightly furred herd animal, grazing in the distant grassy knoll. They leisurely watch as people scurry around. Only a few people are going to the coalition meeting: mostly representatives, the science teams, high-ranking Blades, and of course Team Voltron. But many citizens on the base this sunny morning are making repairs to some of the ships, training, and running drills. Sometimes Keith forgets that they’re all living in this war and each person who remains on Gal will eventually have to fight for their freedom. Some may die in the process, but their future will be preserved and ready for the next generation. 

He finds his father preparing their shuttle. Kolivan stands by his side, a datapad in his hands. His forehead is creased, his brows straining. Hazar is with them too, towering over them with his hands gripping the hilt of his poleaxe blade. Keith can’t hear him, but he knows that he’s arguing with Kolivan. The clench of his jaw, the narrow of his gaze as Kolivan seemingly ignores him. 

“…allow me, please. You’ll have many of the leaders there,” Hazar prattles on as the young Blade grows closer. “You’ll need guards.”

“We’ll be fine,” Kolivan mutters dully. He’s not even entertaining the thought. “Your sister is already there. That’s enough from the two of you for one sitting.”

Hazar chuffs low in his throat. “Leader, please—”

“I need you here, Hazar.” Kolivan finally looks up from his datapad. “With our leaders on Olkarion, you must stay with Antok and oversee operations _here_.”

Hazar sighs loudly. “Fine. I give up.” Like an overgrown child, the warrior stomps off after not getting his way.

“What was that all about?” Keith asks, sidling up to help his father fuel up the shuttle. 

“Hazar wants to come along,” Thace answers, leaving Kolivan with his mouth agape. “He’s better suited for here right now. Next big mission, give it to him, Kolivan. He’s getting stir crazy.”

Kolivan massages his forehead. It’s like Keith has transferred his own headache to their leader. 

The three of them pile into the shuttle once it’s ready. Thace pilots, distractedly tapping away at the consoles and gripping the toggles at least five times before settling into a light cruise.

“How long is this meeting going to take?” Keith finally asks when the silence is too stifling.

“Tee-osh had explained that for the past few quintants they’ve been receiving more intel,” Kolivan answers. “We’re planning an integral operation. One that will take all factions of the coalition to execute. We must do this while Zarkon is still distracted.”

“So, a long time,” Keith mutters under his breath, answering his own question. Shiro hadn’t explained it to him in detail, giving him the same amount of information that Kolivan had given him. Tee-osh had gained some information about this last region teeming with Imperials and Shiro had his own plans. 

The remainder of the trip is held in silence. Keith’s stomach clenches and gripes. He disables his mask because all he wants is a fresh breeze and none of the recycled air percolating through the cabin of the shuttle. The moment Thace touches the shuttle down on Olkarion’s airfield, Keith is unbuckling his safety belt and lunging out of the spacecraft. He takes deep breaths, leaning forward to brace his hands on his knees. 

“You okay, son?” Thace asks, pressing a large hand between his shoulder blades. 

Keith nods, straightening up. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He doesn’t want to tell his dad that Ozar is going to be here. That Ozar might bring something up that he doesn’t want to hear. He doesn’t want to see Allura looking at him with a sense of urgency, begging him to speak up. He doesn’t want this _integral operation_ to take place. He wants to return to that pink beach and eat fish and gaze at the fairy birds again.

 _Once this war is over, we’re all going on a yearlong vacation,_ Keith thinks. _Travel places that we’ve never seen before._ He forces himself to think about those happy moments at the horizon. 

Kolivan leads them down the bustling streets. Olkarion is just as congested as Gal. Although the refugee camps are well used, many people leave in droves for Gal or Olkarion or any of the other bases they’re using. People are desperate to fight, to push back the Galran invaders. People nod in their direction and although Kolivan and Thace walk forward with some divine purpose, Keith gives hesitant smiles to each person. 

The meeting takes place in one of the strange black pyramids. It towers over much of the landscape, overlooking the forest like a sentinel standing watch. In the distance, something is slowly being built. A plasma cannon? What in the hell are the scientists doing out here? And why does his mother spend so much time with the Olkari? 

Keith dampens the questions down, hurrying into the lift that is already packed with representatives from coalition allies and refugee camps. They’re there to document the meeting, hoping to share more news with those who can’t fight but wish to support. Some are laughing and yet some are extraordinarily quiet. Keith is somewhere in between: he wants to sulk and laugh hysterically at the same time. Will this next operation end the war? He can only hope.

The room, like the elevator, is already packed with people. Dorma and Ulaz are next to his mother who sits right beside Mrs. Holt. To Mrs. Holt’s left is Matt and Olia. Ozar is there too, with a few of his rebels. Shay, representing the Balmerans, sits beside Hunk and the rest of the paladins. The Olkari hosts sit beside them with Coran standing in between. He seems to have taken command of the meeting, thumbing open the multiple holograms in the center of the table. Slav is in attendance, albeit pacing nervously near the floor-to-glass window, while Bae Bae naps quietly on a overstuffed cushion. The most shocking guest is Ryou, who stands off to the side between Shiro and Lance. The representatives file into the elevated seats behind the circular table, tablets open and ready to take notes. 

Kolivan takes the seat next to Dorma with Thace and Keith grabbing the last two. From across the table, Shiro smiles at him and Keith can’t help but return the warm gesture. 

“Alright, alright,” Coran says, raising his hands. “Settle down, children. We’ve got a lot to cover today and not much time to do it.”

A few hesitant chuckles sweep through the chamber, but the Blades are stoic as ever.

“We’ve received word from only Tee-osh that we have to reclaim one last piece of territory before forging our way forward,” Coran pauses. He gestures between Shiro and Lance. “But Ryou also has knowledge about this last Galra outpost.”

The hair at Keith’s nape rises when he catches Ryou’s yellow gaze. What other intelligence information has the clone been keeping from them? He keeps leaving a trail of breadcrumbs and they’re all stupid enough to grab at them with emaciated hands. 

“I’ll be explaining it,” Shiro says suddenly, nodding at the Altean. “If you will, Coran.”

From the portable console in front of him, Coran thumbs through various displays until he settles on a map. The quadrant glows green and pink, showing their current location before zooming out to a large view of the twenty-nine neighboring quadrants. All of them, a vibrant green color with only one glowing a rich purple-pink. 

“As you can see we’ve claimed the majority of this section of Zarkon’s empire. It might seem like a lot from this perspective, but there’s still more work to be done past this asteroid belt,” Shiro explains, pointing to a part of the map littered in speckles of blue. “We’ve created a chokehold, a ring of outposts around the last Galra stronghold in this area.” He points to the pulsing purple spot on the holographic map. 

“Ryou has told me that this planet is known as Naxzela,” he continues. 

“Naxzela?” Ozar asks, stroking at his white beard with a calloused hand. “Sounds Altean?”

“That’s because it is,” Allura pipes up. “It’s an old decommissioned terraforming planet.”

“The Galra are probably using it as a last stand,” Lance adds. “Only problem is: it’s much more difficult for them to get resources in and out. We cut them off when we took back all the freed worlds nearby.”

“Well that’s a good thing,” Dorma says. “How long can they hold out for?” 

“A while,” Ryou drawls. “It’s decommissioned, but they were using it as one big warehouse. They’ve got stuff stockpiled in there to last them years.” 

“Which is why we have to take Naxzela,” Shiro says. “We take that planet and we own one-third of the Galra’s territory.”

“And we keep those freed worlds safe?” Shay asks.

Hunk nods beside her, shifting in his seat. “With Zarkon distracted, it’s a good time to hit it.”

“Why can’t you just keep your guns trained on them?” Colleen questions hesitantly. “Why engage on their level? Do it at a distance? Isn’t that possible?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Lance says. “If they’ve got it stockpiled like Evil Twin says they do, we don’t know what exactly they have. They could have ammunition. Cannons. Warships.”

“Lance this is a risk we’ve got to take,” Allura adds. 

“No, it’s not,” he says harshly. “We have no idea what’s down there. If we’re circling that planet like sharks, why didn’t they try and evacuate a long time ago? Why hold out for so long?” 

“The Galra don’t believe in retreat.” Matt points out, rubbing at the scar on his cheek. “That’s a fact. What’s their motto? Victory or let’s all kill ourselves.”

“It’s _Vrepit sa_ ,” Ryou says, rolling his eyes. “It roughly translates to victory or death.”

“Yeah, well you would know,” Lance grits out. 

“If we don’t take control of it,” Ryou argues, “Zarkon can push back in and reclaim the territory.”

“Oh,” Lance frowns. “Now we’re _we_.”

“Lance,” Allura chides. 

“No, Allura, this is ridiculous,” Lance continues. “We’re going to listen to a guy who infiltrated our ranks. He tried to turn Keith against Shiro. He was working for Lotor. And now suddenly, he’s a part of the team. But hey, he’s got the goods so let’s just take his word for it.”

Keith tenses. Lance and Ryou have been at each other’s throats. They are right beside each other and Ryou can’t be shoved into a sleep pod as punishment. It would take only a tick for one of them to try and punch the other. He doesn’t think Shiro or Allura could move fast enough and Keith certainly doesn’t feel like launching himself across the table to get in between them. 

“Kolivan,” Coran says, regaining the attention. “What do you say? Do you think this is the correct course of action?”

Kolivan leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. His own mask is disabled, like the other Blades at attendance, but he might as well have kept it on. The argument between Ryou and Lance has had zero impact on him. 

“The Blade of Marmora will not be leading this operation,” he proclaims. “You tell us where to go and we will be there.”

Coran deflates, slightly unhappy with his answer. With begging watery eyes, he turns to Larka for confirmation. 

Keith is shocked when his mother simply shrugs. 

“I’ve never heard about this Naxzela,” she says and then makes brief eye contact with Allura. “I agree with Lance. Just because they believe in that victorious ideology doesn’t mean they’re going to follow that protocol to the end… especially with Zarkon furiously searching for Lotor and the bounty on Lotor’s head. Commanders have much to gain by beheading Lotor and sending it to Zarkon as a gift. Why haven’t they done that already?” Her gaze shifts to Ryou. “Unless they were told to stay on Naxzela.”

“And if I may add,” Thace remarks. “While I was stationed at Central Command it was apparent to me that just because they believe in that ideology, it doesn’t mean they cannot or will not think for themselves. They had chosen to fight among themselves while Zarkon was comatose. Now that their emperor has gone hunting after someone they’ve all looked down upon for centuries, I don’t doubt that they would attempt to better their current situations.”

Allura scrubs at her forehead. “Naxzela was decommissioned a long time ago, before the days of King Alfor and Empress Honerva.” 

Keith knows that she doesn’t mean to bring up the past, but Larka’s head tilts to the side with the rise of her brow and Allura’s eyes narrow to slits. The cousins are looking for a fight. 

“I stand by Kolivan’s words, Coran,” she says with a sigh. “Place us where you wish.”

Keith anxiously scratches at his chest. This is supposed to be an important mission. Fighting with each other won’t help. He wants to say those words, but he takes one glance at Pidge and bites his tongue. The green paladin has been watching him, her eyes trained on his cautious expression. She slowly shakes her head. 

“What happens once we claim this last planet?” Pidge asks, leaning back in her seat. 

“We set up a base of operations there, right?” Hunk gestures over at Shiro. 

Shiro looks up at Ryou who slings an arm across the back of the paladin’s chair. 

“Once Team Voltron sets up a base of operations on Naxzela, you’ll have resources at your disposal, documents and intel from that outpost,” Ryou explains. “You’ll have the ability to seize more territory from Zarkon with a clear path to Central Command.”

Pidge narrows her eyes. 

“That’s not what I asked,” she said. “What happens once we claim this last planet? My dad is still out there. We have no more leads now that Lotor is on the run. The same goes for Keith’s dad. We still need to contact Marco on Earth. Are you just going to conveniently forget that we still have to figure out that great mystery?!”

“It’s good that we’ll gain this extra piece of territory from Zarkon,” Keith chimes in. “But it’s important that we know the motivations of each faction.”

“Not to mention that we could be playing right into Zarkon and Lotor’s gross hands,” Lance says. He looks like he’s breathing easier now that Pidge and Keith are vehemently on his side. 

“Guys, no one is saying that we’re going to leave those other situations unchecked,” Hunk remarks. “We'll have to formulate a plan. That’s what we’re gonna do right after this. We’ll try and track down Sam Holt and Mick Kogane. And maybe we can return back to Earth once we get more information out of Iverson, but it’ll have to wait.” Hunk pleadingly looks over at Matt, hoping that he’ll weigh in and be a voice of reason as Pidge silently seethes from her seat. 

“So how are we going to do this?” Matt tentatively asks. 

Shiro lets out a sigh of relief. “Our main objective is to take out Naxzela’s ability to communicate with the rest of the empire. We need to cut off the troops from reaching Central Command and the dreadnought. Lastly, we arrest all the commanders left within Gal’s reach.”

“If they surrender, they get fair trials and are punished accordingly. We must force them to depend on us for support and resources,” Allura remarks. “In order to do this, we’ll have to take Voltron down there, destabilize ground troops and take back the central hub on that planet.”

“But it’s more complicated than that,” Ryou states matter-of-factly. “Despite the fact that they are the last piece of the puzzle, they’re still the Empire’s contingency plan. Naxzela has two defense systems.”

Coran pulls up another map with two locations. “Here and here,” he says, pointing to a large warship and a smaller moon. “They are each approximately two quadrants away from Naxzela.”

“Long-range plasma cannons?” Ulaz raises a white eyebrow in curiosity.

Coran nods with a frown. “We need to disable those two cannons before Voltron can land.”

“And that’s where the rebel factions come into play,” Shiro explains. “Matt and Ozar’s rebels will head to the Teq cannon, while Keith and Kolivan’s rebels will head to Senfama’s cannon. Teq will have to be handled aggressively and Senfama will be done with a stealth mission.”

“Perfect for each faction’s abilities,” Ryou drawls. 

“Once those zaiforge cannons have been disabled,” Allura starts, “we will be able to breach Naxzela’s local defenses.”

“This all seems kind of hasty without taking their communication out first,” Matt comments.

“You’re right,” Shiro remarks. “Which is why Hunk and Pidge will be going out a few vargas in advance to disable their communications remotely. Once that is done, the rebels will disable the cannons and Hunk and Pidge will be able to meet up with the rest of us at Naxzela.”

The room is silent, everyone mulling over their words. 

“Any Galra troops left behind will be stranded by Central Command,” Ryou says with a giddy smile. “Zarkon won’t come to help and the revolutionaries can be the heroes they so desperately want to be.” 

“This isn’t about being heroes,” Shiro says, standing from his seat. “This is about making the universe a better place, defending people who can’t fight, and reclaiming what was lost. We may not know who all the enemies are right now, but we’re close to finding all of this out. We must tackle this last outpost before pushing farther into Zarkon’s madness. We have to use Voltron for good.”

Keith’s chest aches for a moment. He knows Shiro’s words are meant for Pidge and Lance, for himself. There are still so many unanswered questions and perhaps this siege will give them the freedom to find out more. 

“When do we leave for this mission?” Keith asks warily. 

“Two days,” Shiro answers. 

A low murmur turns into a dull roar in Keith’s ears. 

“That’s so soon,” Matt remarks. 

“It has to happen now,” Hunk says. “We don’t know how long we have left before Zarkon turns to us and says he needs the Black Lion more than Lotor’s head.”

“He could always say he needs both,” Pidge murmurs under her breath.

The sudden buzzing of a communicator interrupts the broiling tension in the chamber. Everyone looks over towards Larka who fumbles around for the device. 

“My apologies,” she says, still swiping her thumb across the device. Her eyes widen for a moment, an unsettling expression sweeping over her face. 

“What’s wrong?” Allura asks immediately. “What is it?”

Larka’s gaze snaps up at Kolivan before shifting towards Allura. “It’s coming from an unknown frequency. It’s a just a message. A set of coordinates.”

“To where?” Allura asks.

“The ruins of Daibazaal.” 

\--

“I can’t believe you have us taking a casual stroll through space,” Hunk starts for thirteenth time since they’ve loaded into the Lions. “Enjoying sights of random gas planets and the natural terrain of fabulous asteroid fields, just to make it all the way _here_.”

“If we don't win this war, you can definitely become a space tour guide," Matt quips.

"If I live that long," Hunk chuckles. 

"Is that sarcasm I detect?” Matt laughs too. 

“Uh, yeah,” Hunk continues on. “Keith’s mom gets a text message from probably one of the most untrustworthy druids working for Lotor and now we’re going to that meet up.”

“I don’t think it’s a _meet up_ , Hunk,” Larka says through the communication link where she rides with Allura on the Blue Lion.

Kolivan had sent Thace, Larka, and Keith to accompany the paladins after Allura and Shiro demanded that they head there next. Apparently, it had been a while since they had caught a glimpse of the rocky remains. Matt had even asked to go, opting to ride with his sister while Thace partnered up with Lance. Who knew what private conversation those two were having. Although his father had not said much at the coalition meeting, he didn’t seem very happy about the Naxzela mission. Both he and Lance were broodily stewing over this next gambit. If Naxzela was being used as a depot, anything could await them. And the Blades would be two quadrants over on the moon world of Senfama. If an emergency happened, would they be able to reach the others in time? 

“I think she just wants us to see something,” Larka remarks. “Something important.”

Keith runs a shaky hand through his thick hair, pulling at the roots. 

“What do you think?” he asks. 

Shiro’s hands clench on Black’s controls, piloting them closer and closer to Daibazaal’s remains. He tilts his head to the side, mulling over Larka’s words. 

“I’m not sure,” Shiro answers. “It could be anything. She may want to meet us there. She may want to give us information. She seemed pretty forthcoming during your mission to Kuron-3, right?”

Keith nods, “Yeah. She gave us as much as she could before you called. But anytime we speak with her, it’s almost as if she’s holding information back. Like there’s something she wants to share, but she feels like she doesn’t have all the answers either.”

“Like she’s still piecing Ryou’s puzzle together, too?” Shiro looks away from the front window. He stares at Keith expectantly. 

Keith nods again. 

Shiro sighs loudly before facing forward once more and accelerating. “Well, the only way we’re going to find out is if we reach Daibazaal before she happens to message your mom again and say the deal’s off.”

“Kolivan thinks this is a trap,” Keith says. “Do you think so?”

The black paladin shakes his head. “If she wanted to kidnap us or kill us, she would have done it already. There were plenty of times that Lotor and his generals could have stuck to the shadows and offed us, but they haven’t. Which means that Narti is betting that we’re good people and whatever her favor is, we’ll honor it.” 

Keith nervously wrings his hands back and forth. “They can’t be that desperate.”

“Keith, Zarkon’s chasing Lotor like a madman. We can’t even lock on to Zarkon’s signal long enough to find his location from the Castleship. He keeps moving. Every system he settles in, it’s only for a few doboshes or so before he sets back out. Lotor and Zarkon must be exhausted. They can’t carry this on for much longer.”

“And that’s why we have to deal with Naxzela as soon as possible.” He grits his teeth. 

“Exactly,” Shiro remarks. “I know it’s going too fast, but once we control this part of the Galra Empire, it will be easier for Larka and Allura to gain more allies from within. People will be willing to come to our aid, to break away from the regime if there’s an alternative that can sustain itself.”

“You’re agreeing with Allura,” Keith states, raising an eyebrow. It’s not a question, but he thought Shiro would put up more of a fight when it came to a regime change within the Galra Empire. Freeing people could only go so far. Why not just get rid of the empire altogether? Why keep it? 

_Is that what I want?_ Keith asks himself. Daibazaal was a republic before… could it become a republic again? Or did Keith want the line of succession to remain with Zarkon’s descendants? His mother, him, his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren. Was that something he wanted? 

“Lance and your father have been quiet on their end,” Shiro says, startling Keith from his daydream. “If Black didn’t sense Red I would think they flew off without us.”

“Yeah well, Pidge’s been pretty silent, too.”

“They’re all upset.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “So am I.”

Shiro stiffens. “The sooner we get this over with, the faster the war will be over.”

 _Then what?_ he wants to say. 

“We’re approaching Daibazaal on the left,” Larka says. 

“Or what’s left of it,” Allura quips.

“Not the right thing to say,” Hunk comments. 

“Sorry,” Allura says. “That was in poor taste.”

“Yes, aren’t the Altean ruins near as well?” Larka jests. 

“That’s hilarious,” Allura drawls, sarcasm dripping from her voice like warm syrup. 

“Okay, we get it,” Lance singsongs. “There’s nothing much left of the past. Let’s just focus on the future.”

The communication link goes silent at the truth of Lance’s words. Because what remains of Daibazaal is a worn out giant rock surrounded by red rubble. Keith draws in a sharp breath. This is what is left of his heritage. The birthplace of his parents are more than just ruins; it’s a garbage heap of rock and twisted metal. Tears burn at the corners of his vision. The druid’s nightmare he had feels so distant now. The image in front of him makes him feverish, sweltering within his Marmora armor. 

“There’s nothing left,” he breathes softly. It’s nothing like his dream. It isn’t like the images he’s seen in the database of the Castleship or at Marmora HQ or the ancient texts salvaged on the colony of Gal.

“You okay, babe?” Shiro asks, looking up at him again.

“I’m fi—”

“What in the quiznak is that?” Hunk shouts. 

“What?” Thace asks. “What is what?”

“That thing, that orb in front of us?” Hunk asks. 

“Alright, paladins, prepare for combat if necessary,” Shiro says, licking at the sweat beading at his upper lip. The familiar purring of Black arches out towards Keith, but he shoves those feelings aside. 

“Shiro, can you enlarge that image right there?” he asks, pointing ahead at the silvery figure in the distance. It’s a circular disc wedged between two shattered rocks and embedded in another chuck of gray wreckage.

“Larka, Allura, are you looking—do you see this?” Thace asks, desperation leaking into his voice. 

“Yes,” Larka grits out.

“I-is he building a…?” Allura starts. She can’t even finish her question. 

“Oh my god,” Matt says.

Shiro taps away at his dashboard and Black pulls up the image, enlarging it automatically for them to see. What Hunk thought was an orb is not an orb, but instead a ring similar to a… 

“Is that some kind of gate?” Keith asks aloud. 

“Is it a Teludav?” Pidge and Hunk ask in shocked unison. 

“He’s trying to use the remains of the rift,” Larka says darkly. 

“To what?” Allura asks frantically. “Why is he doing this?”

“This is why he needed all that Altean tech,” Pidge bitterly murmurs. “Matt, tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Lance asks, overly cautious. 

The communication link is deadly silence. 

“When I was a slave at Base Kuron-1… I, along with several others, were sent to the Ngar construction site to build something for the druids,” Matt pauses, his tone painful. “We were building this gate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo… I have a slightly serious and important question for readers. It’s not necessary to answer, but I would like some feedback on it. I started writing this series a few months after season one originally dropped and was especially interested in the foreshadowing on Keith’s heritage. Obviously, I made Keith’s mother an original character and Thace as his father (since that was a huge theory after season one). I also played with parts of the timeline since this is a canon divergence AU with a bunch of what-if scenarios. In the original drafts of this AU, I had written Dorma as Keith’s mother because she was a canon character in a different continuity and one with connections to an ‘underground revolutionary organization’ and I was theorizing that Keith’s mother would be a VLD version of Dorma working as a Blade. Instead, I went down the path of making Keith’s mom a blood relative of Zarkon’s after Hunk’s line in season two: _“Was your mom the alien? Your grandpa? How Galra are you?”_ My answer to Hunk’s question was basically _both_. 
> 
> So back to my important question: would y’all be interested in seeing Krolia make a debut in this series? ~~I ask this because I’ve been obsessed with Krolia and~~ I’ve been very subtly working her into this story, but I wanted to get readers’ reactions to that possibility. Should I keep her in it? Or should I ignore the canon content completely in that regard? Thanks ahead of time for any feedback and I hope y’all have an awesome week!


	13. End of an Era, Part Two

The jungle of Senfama is humid, filled with a moisture that clings to every drooping frond and tall blade of grass. The cackling of splenetic birds in the canopy above sets everyone’s teeth on edge. It would take only a moment for one of those waspish creatures to dive-bomb down on them. They aren’t small birds either, only a little larger than Bae Bae. They’ve built large structures made of mud, twigs, and leaves upon the upper boughs. They are like harpies nesting in a rainforest, lurking in the foliage.

“We need to get off this planet,” Hazar gripes behind them. 

Thace attempts to hold back a chuckle. “I thought you were dying to get back in the field.”

“Yes,” Hazar remarks. “To a coalition meeting or someplace less moist.”

Umaala makes a gagging noise behind her mask. “Don’t ever say that word again.”

“Which one? Coalition or _moist_?” Hazar asks, laughter bubbling in his chest. 

“Gross,” Umaala groans.

“Quiet,” Kolivan orders, “or I’ll send you back to the ship.”

“We have fifteen doboshes before the next shift change,” Larka murmurs, thumbing through her wrist device.

“I can slip in and take out whoever is left,” Keith says.

“You’re not going alone,” Kolivan says. “Regris, Umaala, go with him. Clear out whoever is in the atrium. We’ll reconvene at the upper deck.”

“We should have landed closer,” Umaala grumbles before taking off down the rugged path, Regris following her wordlessly. 

Keith’s attention is grabbed by his mother, who still stares down at her wrist device. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

She looks up. He can’t see her face because of the mask she wears, but by her stance and gait she seems anxious. 

“Nothing,” she says, brushing him off. “Follow Kolivan’s orders. We’ll meet again at the upper deck.”

Keith’s brows furrow together in question. Larka is never very abrasive with him. But she’s been distracted ever since they got back from the ruins of Daibazaal. What is worse is that she has thrown herself back into her research. It makes sense to her now. The experimentation with quintessence in all its various forms, the desire to research Honerva’s old subjects on the multiverse theory and black hole cosmology. All the intel they gathered aboard the Deadzone and from Narti’s tablet. Lotor’s supply line trail and his sudden interest in Larka’s synthetic quintessence.

Lotor wants to seek passage into the rift. Whether he wants to expunge the next reality of its resources remains to be seen, but now she knows what he was attempting to do. Before Zarkon interrupted him, chasing him through several quadrants of the Galra Empire. He created a gate for instant access to the rift’s remains and he had commissioned those druids and corrupted Alteans to build it with slave labor. 

It just didn’t answer the question posed by Narti. The druids were upset because Lotor was becoming sidetracked. By what? Larka’s research, teasing and testing the paladins, or running the rest of his father’s empire into the ground? Or was it something far more sinister?

“Kythel,” his father’s soothing voice interrupts his reverie.

He looks up, startled. The others have left, disappearing into the misty tree line. 

“You alright?” 

Keith nods. 

“Good,” Thace remarks. “Keep your wits about you, son.”

“You too, old man,” Keith quips. 

He hears his father’s chuff of laughter as they head in opposite directions. 

The schematics gathered by Tee-osh’s intel showed there were three main sections of the large base on Senfama. The atrium housed the common room, mess hall, and residential quarters. The upper deck held the control room and the security hub. The last section was the cannon itself. Since Senfama was uninhabited save for the carnivorous harpy birds and its prey of various cat-sized rodents, the Galra thought additional security and guards were not needed. Even with the fact that they had three shift rotations, the total workers at the facility were twenty. Half of those were just engineers operating and repairing the actual zaiforge cannon. 

“That means we can’t actually kill the workers,” Keith mutters under his breath. “They’re civilians.”

He finally catches up with his team, just as Umaala is slicing into a guard’s neck who is supposed to be on duty. Regris stands in the guardhouse, plugging his hacking device into a console.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks.

“Killing this guy,” Umaala shrugs. 

“Not you,” he mutters. “Regris, we should head to the atrium.”

“The shift change isn’t until,” he checks the time on his wrist device, “twelve doboshes from now. I want to scrub this place for some intel. We can take the soldiers out if we tackle the atrium in batches. The group that stays, the group leaving, and the group coming.”

“That’s pretty reckless,” Keith quips. 

“You’re not the only one who is,” Regris jokes back, hands clacking away at the screen.

“But that leaves no action for the old guys,” Umaala drawls.

“Hazar will feel bad,” Keith remarks. 

“Serves him right for saying that word.”

“Moist?” Regris inquires.

“Stop it,” Umaala groans. 

“Hands up,” orders a wavering voice. Keith and Umaala slowly turn to see a guard with his rifle pointed at them. “I said hands up! Now! Control, come in? I have two Marmorans here. I need back up. We have a soldier down. Come in?”

Regris is hidden from view in the guardhouse. And even if he was out in the open, it wouldn’t even matter. This Galra is wet behind the ears and quaking in his boots. 

“I said to put your hands up! Quiznak. Come in? I’m at the southern guard outpost. I’m in need of—” The guard lets out an ugly squelching noise as Keith rams his blade into his chest. He drops his rifle into the mud, his body quickly following as Keith pulls his blade free. 

He cleans the metal on his utility belt, sheathing it back in its scabbard. Umaala grabs the rifle, looking it over. 

“Looks new,” she comments. “Probably never used it... and the safety is on.”

“Yeah, well thank Hunk and Pidge when we get back,” Keith adds. “Disabling their communication was helpful, too.”

“Something doesn’t look right,” Regris says gravely. 

Keith raises an eyebrow. He enters the guardhouse, peeking over Regris’ shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Something looks strange here in the logs,” Regris says, pointing to the screen. “All the information from the past seven phoebs has been manually documented and scheduled daily, but suddenly in the last quintant there are three logs consecutively.”

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“They’ve been receiving more orders than usual,” Regris explains. “And they’re coming directly from Central Command.”

Keith’s gaze snaps up. “Do you think they know we’re here?”

“Unlikely,” Regris says matter-of-factly. “I’m having difficultly decrypting the communication logs and messages, but it seems to be about a contingency plan.”

“These cannons weren’t just to protect Naxzela,” Keith thinks aloud. “Why not use them prior when we were taking over this section of space?” 

“The contingency plan may be for that very reason,” Regris says, unplugging his tech from the console. “I’ve copied over the plans and corrupted the database with a virus. We can decrypt the messages back at headquarters.”

Keith nods, turning to leave. 

“You guys could have helped, you know,” Umaala complains as she throws one of the soldiers into the dense shrubbery by the guardhouse.

“Looks like you have it under control,” Keith says. “And we may have a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

As they head to the atrium, Regris retells the sparse information he has gathered and glosses over what it means.

“You’re sure they don’t know that we’re here?” Umaala asks. “Maybe we should call it in. Tell Kolivan.”

“We have to move forward,” Keith says, sidling up to the door leading to main atrium’s entrance. “We’ll catch up to them soon.”

Suspicion weighs heavily on him. He feels the same way as Umaala. Why would there be more conversations between Central Command and Senfama in the last several vargas? They shouldn’t know that they were coming. 

_Unless there’s another mole,_ he thinks.

Keith shakes his head. The only person who could be the mole is Ryou. But he had given them information throughout his time as their teammate. That had to count for something. Keith may not like him, but he's been loyal ever since he formally joined their side.

Regris shoves the door open, scanning the room for any soldiers and engineers. They cling to the shadows, watching warily as two sentries mill about in the common room. An engineer in a graying lab coat enters the mess hall. Umaala and Keith move in to disable the sentries, unsheathing their blades and slicing through metal and wiring. They clumsily fall to the floor, a clunking sound reverberating through the atrium. 

“Quiznak,” Umaala hisses. 

The engineer comes racing out of the mess hall, a metal tray in his hands. But before he could scream for help, Regris is behind him. Shoving the hilt of his blade at the base of the engineer’s skull. He falls with a dull thud.

“What part of stealth mission don’t you two understand?” Regris asks. 

Keith ignores the mild joke. He slides his finger across his wrist device. “I’m reading another body in the barracks.”

“You and Umaala go ahead,” Regris says. “I’ll deal with the last one.”

Keith gives him a tight nod before grabbing Umaala by the shoulder and leading her towards the ramp to the hall. It’s a wide corridor with bright lights streaming through glass windows. It’s unlike the Galra to have something so refreshing rather than the utilitarian architecture they usually use. 

The two Blades sweep the hall much easier than they did in the atrium. There’s only one soldier and one sentry there to guard the four engineers walking down the hall, unaware of the siege underway. By the time Umaala strangles the last Galran into unconsciousness, Regris races up the hallway, hand clutching a small device.

“What’s that?” Keith asks, disabling his mask. 

Regris follows suit, worry written on his reptilian face. “It’s a time table.”

“What? What do you mean?” 

Regris shoves the device into Keith’s hands, thumbing open a small holo-screen. 

“It’s a time table,” he repeats again. “Teq and Senfama were making plans to abandon this sector until Haggar contacted them to remain at their post. She sent them a schedule. This is the last quintant they’re supposed to be here. That’s what those correspondences were between Central Command and Senfama.”

Keith reads through the screen, scrolling through the seemingly endless notations. Packing up, preparing to clear out, the pickup that would arrive in a varga.

“They’re planning an evacuation,” Umaala says. “Why? Do you think they’re going to abandon this region after we claim Naxzela?”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Keith murmurs.

The three Blades make their way to the upper deck where Kolivan’s group has taken down the rest of the engineers and soldiers. Thace is already at one of the computers, tapping away at the screen. He tosses a look over his shoulder. 

“Kythel, get on the main console and disable the fuel cells,” he instructs. “Make sure the quintessence is down to zero percent before initiating the shutdown procedure.”

“We may have a problem,” Keith says as he heads to the console, toggling open the screen. 

“What sort of problem?” Larka asks, thumbing through her wrist device.

“These people were expected to evacuate Senfama in a varga,” Regris remarks. 

“What?” Kolivan’s gaze snaps over to Regris and Umaala who have both gone to look out the window at the outdoor deck. 

“We had some extra time,” Umaala starts, “so Regris took a few ticks to hack into their database.”

“They’ve been in contact with Central Command,” Regris says. 

“For how long?” Kolivan asks.

“The last quintant or so.”

“Alright, let's hurry and disable this cannon,” Kolivan orders. 

“We could always use it as back up,” Keith says. “We have control of it now.”

“We stick to the plan. Finish here and rendezvous with everyone on the Castleship,” Kolivan says, shaking his head.

Keith grits his teeth. His hands itch with the sensation to be on Naxzela. The action must be there and yet here he is, two quadrants away fiddling with one of Haggar’s war machines. 

“Matt,” Keith calls out through the comm link, his hands busy hacking through the controls of the cannon. “The Senfama base is clear of enemies. We’re just shutting down the zaiforge right now.”

A crackle of static streams through the audio before Matt’s voice comes through clean and crisp. “Good. We were struggling with the commandeering of Teq, but we’ve managed.” His voice grows quiet. “We lost a few people.”

A pang of remorse spreads through Keith’s chest. They’ve been riding a wave of luck. They’re in the middle of a war. It would be silly to think that they would not lose people.

“Have you checked in with Coran or Ryou yet?” Keith asks, watching as the quintessence levels drop to zero. He starts the protocol to shut down the base completely. 

“Not yet,” Matt says. “Do me a solid and check in with him for me? We’re still dealing with some stray cruisers.”

“Copy that.” 

“I keep getting this message,” Larka says suddenly. 

Keith’s gaze shifts over to his mother who is once again anxiously looking at her wrist device. 

“What is it?” Thace asks, pulling away from his own console to stride up beside her. 

“A distress beacon,” she answers. 

The whirring oscillation of the shutdown protocol starts. Keith tears himself away from his own console to approach them. Was this what had his mother on edge? 

“From who?” Thace tries to read over her shoulder. 

“Is it that Narti girl?” Hazar asks. “Is it her frequency?”

Larka shakes her head, lifting her gaze to look directly at Kolivan. 

“It’s Lotor.” The upper deck grows quiet once the shutdown protocol finishes. Apprehension stirs Keith’s belly. Central Command in contact with this base. Lotor contacting Larka. This cannot just be mere coincidence. 

“Ignore it,” Kolivan says, turning towards the doors that lead to the outer deck. 

“What?” Keith grits his teeth. “But what if this is Narti’s request? Her favor?”

“We have a mission,” Kolivan remarks. “We’ve completed it and now we must leave. If these Galra were planning for an evacuation that means that their people are coming to collect them. We don’t know those numbers. We’re leaving. Now.”

Kolivan lets out a deep breath. “Larka, I’m serious. Ignore the beacon. We finish what we started. We’ll deal with Lotor later. Kythel, contact the Castleship.”

He wants to fight this, but his mother is already looking away. She straightens her back, squeezing his arm thoughtfully. It’s a small but welcome apology for her curt behavior. 

Keith shares a look with his father before radioing in. 

“Coran, come in,” he says, following the rest of the Blades out to the deck.

“Keith? I’m glad you’re there! Have you heard back from Lieutenant Ozar’s team?” Coran’s usually bubbly voice is surprisingly calm. 

“Yeah,” Keith nods. “Matt and I just talked. Listen, something funky is happening over here. Central Command sent orders to Senfama that there was a personnel extraction today. Out of all the days they could have done this, they chose this one to pack up and leave. We’re heading back to the—”

“That’s not all that’s funky,” Ryou comments before Keith can finish his statement. 

Everyone halts in their step, hearing the audio through their own comm links. 

“Voltron has gone radio silent,” Coran says. “They were fine one moment. Ryou tried to explain some instructions to Shiro. The next moment, we hadn’t heard back.”

“What?” Keith’s voice wavers. 

“For how long?” Kolivan asks. 

“Approximately thirty doboshes,” Coran answers.

“Quiznak,” Hazar curses. 

“Kythel and Regris, you take the emergency cruiser on the ship,” Kolivan remarks. “Go to Naxzela. Survey what’s going on and report back. The rest of us will head back to the Castleship and regroup before sending out reinforcements.”

“What if this is a setup?” Hazar asks softly. 

“We won’t know until it plays out,” Kolivan grumbles. 

“One of us should stay behind,” Larka starts, “to man the cannon. I can provide cover fire.”

“Absolutely not,” says Coran. “Follow Kolivan’s plans.”

Larka raises an eyebrow at Coran’s sudden and harsh tone. 

“Ummm… Coran?” Ryou murmurs. “I’m getting a reading on Pidge’s tracking system. A battle cruiser is entering Naxzela space.”

“We’ve wasted enough time here,” Kolivan says, looking over at Keith and Regris. “The two of you, hurry.”

With a tight nod to his parents, Keith follows Regris down the adjacent stairs. They leave the same way they came in, through the southern gate. Keith grimaces as a flock of overgrown harpy hawks pick their way through the deceased Galra soldiers’ armor, purple-tinged blood coating their gnarled beaks. 

\--

They’ve made it halfway through the quadrant towards Naxzela when Umaala radios in to tell them that the auxiliary power on Senfama has gone out. They made it out in time, but something had triggered a detonation sequence and the odd-shaped moon had been blown to shards. 

“Why do I get the feeling that that was Central Command’s doing?” Regris asks aloud.

“Probably because it was,” Keith murmurs. “…or it could have been that battle cruiser Ryou was talking about. It’s closer. But they had engineers on that planet. We didn’t kill their civilians.”

“They probably didn’t check in with whoever is controlling the military in Zarkon’s absence,” Regris explains. “The military probably thought Senfama was compromised.”

“Which it was…” Keith drawls, his arms readjusting on the piloting controls.

“You sure you don’t want me to take over flying?” Regris asks. 

“No offense, buddy, but out of the two of us, I’m the better flier,” Keith smirks. “Just stick to the weaponry. Maybe if I can get close enough, you can bail out and get aboard that cruiser.”

“Prince Kythel,” Ozar says through the comm link. “What is your location?”

“Regris and I are approaching Naxzela in a few doboshes,” Keith answers. 

“Disengage right now,” Ozar orders. 

“What?”

“Voltron is stuck on the surface,” Ozar says hastily. “Looks like it may be druid magic keeping them locked in.”

“We’ve got to assist them!” Keith shouts. 

“Negative,” Ozar retorts. “We’re in the blast radius. We’re trying to take down the battle cruiser, but its particle barrier defenses aren’t—” Static crackles over the link.

“Ozar!”

This particular Marmora ship isn’t built for traveling through hyper-space, but Keith hits the acceleration toggle to urge it faster.

“—can’t break through the defenses,” Ozar’s voice streams through clearer but there is a noticeable delay. 

“Blast radius? Defenses?” Regris mutters. 

_“Naxzela? Sounds Altean?”_

_“That’s because it is. It’s an old decommissioned terraforming planet.”_

“Holy crow,” Keith breathes raggedly. “Someone set us up.” 

“But who?” Regris asks.

“How much GAC you wanna bet it was the druids?” Keith grits his teeth. “We’ve taken Iverson and we’ve claimed a good portion of the Empire. It’s an Altean decommissioned terraforming planet. Who would know how to reverse engineer it to be a bomb?”

“Haggar,” Regris hisses.

Keith nods. “And that battle cruiser is the detonator.”

“We’re going to take down its defenses?” Regris asks, his tail swishing nervously behind him.

“We’re gonna try.”

Regris lets out a deep breath. “Well, no time like the present to sacrifice oneself to the cause.”

The two Blades share a smirk, but it quickly slides from their faces when they enter Naxzela space. Sitting as far as it can from the planet is the largest warship he’s ever seen. Twice the size as the dreadnought, it sits idly in space. A cannon bigger than the one on Senfama or Teq is positioned towards the planet. A beam of translucent purple energy shudders through the darkness of the void. 

Naxzela is not like the images they had seen projected at the meeting quintants ago. A layer of the same purple matter coats the sphere, radiation coiling through its atmosphere. Energy pulses on the outside, keeping any assistance at bay. No one can get close enough to it. 

Much of the resistance is pointed towards the battle cruiser, the rebel ships firing at the spherical shield that protectively encapsulates the cannon. Ships pour out from the docking bays of the cruiser like flies at a summer picnic. They immediately search for rebel ships to destroy.

“Do me a favor, Regris?” Keith mutters. “If we make it out of here alive, don’t tell my mom about this.”

“Will do, Prince Kythel.” 

“We need to pull back. There’s too many of them,” Ozar shouts through the collective audio.

“We can pierce through the barrier,” Matt shouts back as Olia dishes out orders. “Just give us a few! We can do it!” 

“Bail out now if you want to,” Keith murmurs to Regris, accelerating into the fray. 

Regris grips the weapon controls, hitting three Imperial ships as Keith weaves around the debris.

“I come back to your mother without you and she’ll flay me alive,” Regris quips. “I’m dead either way.”

Keith inhales sharply. Regris is right. This is a one-way mission. Voltron has been taken out of the game and the rebels are losing ships left and right. Keith hits the throttle while Regris tries to lock onto his targets. The closer they get, the more rebels begin retreating. Ozar’s ship breezes past them. 

“Kythel? Is that you?” Ozar says. “Turn back now, boy.”

“Not leaving Voltron or Matt’s team behind,” Keith says before cutting off his feed. 

“Quiznak,” Regris curses as he misses his next shot. A blast to their hull jolts their ship to the side and into a passing rebel. Their ally’s ship hurtles farther away before the wing blasts off. A panel of metal peels away and two bodies get sucked into space.

There are only two more ships trying to get past the battle cruiser’s particle barrier. Matt evades an oncoming attack from a small fleet, but the second ship is destroyed right before their eyes. Keith’s heart skips a beat. In his peripheral vision, the film covering Naxzela begins to flicker before disappearing all together. From its dense atmosphere, Voltron reemerges.

“Shiro’s giving the command to retreat,” Regris says, still connected to the coalition’s primary communication frequency.

Keith grips the acceleration toggle. 

“Kythel?” Regris raises an eyebrow. “Pull back. Voltron’s retreating. So is Matt. We need to get out of here.”

“Our mission isn’t complete,” Keith grits out. 

Regris curses under his breath, staring out the front window before looking back at Keith. 

“Pull back, Kythel,” he says, tugging at his safety belt. 

“Haggar is right here, Regris. We have an opportunity to take out the druids.” Keith murmurs. 

Regris launches from his seat, attempting to pull at the controls. All Keith sees is red. He reaches for the acceleration toggle again, but Regris grapples for it as if he can tear it away from Keith’s reach. 

Red and yellow plasma fire bursts across the bow of the warship. A shockwave of quintessence fills the cabin with heat and knocks their ship back. Regris grabs onto the back of the pilot seat to remain upright. Keith swivels the controls, righting the ship with a sharp twist just in time to see a large portion of the cannon breaking from its root at the bow. 

“W-what the hell…” Keith says aloud, flicking his communication link back on.

Regris slings himself into his seat, hastily jamming the buckles into the locking mechanisms. 

“Now, Kythel,” Regris shouts as a piece of rubble is flung in their direction.

Keith evades to the left, hitting the acceleration. 

Another piece of the cannon breaks apart as the warship enters hyper-space, disappearing in dull streaks of gray and purple. Two other ships, both smaller than the Castleship, rests in its place. His heart thuds wildly in his chest. He can almost feel his blood rushing though his veins. Anger radiates through him, so palpable that Regris reels back. 

Black and gray are the standard colors for any Galra vessel, perhaps even the light cobalt too. But the dark orange accents of the ships look so familiar. He knows that meaning in Altean: vengeance. Keith would recognize those colors anywhere. 

Lotor.

A series of emotions filter through Keith: anger at his grandmother for running away from this battle, guilt for putting Regris in momentary danger, elation that they were saved, and finally suspicion that it was Lotor who had rescued them. He can barely hear Shiro and Lance shouting over the comm link. Someone is crying. He doesn’t know if it’s his mother or Allura. 

“Are you okay?” Regris asks. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith apologizes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

Regris reaches over, placing a hand over Keith’s and squeezes affectionately.

“It’s okay,” Regris says. “We all make sacrifices.”

“I almost killed us.”

“We’re still alive.”

A crackling overtakes the frequency as someone hacks into the link. The soft hum of Lotor’s saccharine voice echoes in his ears.

“Prince Kythel… is that you?” Lotor asks. Keith can hear the smile on his face. “It seems that you were in need of assistance.”

“What do you want?” Keith growls out.

“I think you know,” Lotor says. “I helped you. And now, I require your help.”

Allura and Kolivan are shouting in his ears, but it’s drowned out by Lotor’s chuckling. 

“I surrender to the Paladins of Voltron and their rebel fighters.”

\--

The hanger is eerily quiet. Rebel medics are patching up those who made it after the skirmish. Some are heading to the sleep pods, while others are escorted onto shuttles heading to Gal and Olkarion. 

“What the hell, Keith?” Lance says, grabbing at his upper arm. “Matt just told me that you were about to throw yourself and Regris into that warship! Are you out of your mind? Shiro is pissed!”

“Keep your voice down,” Keith murmurs, tugging Lance over to a free spot, far from where Larka and Allura are standing. “We have other problems on our hands.” He nods over to the hanger door shutting as a Marmora shuttle lands. The airlock door slides shut and the air pressurizers activate before the inner glass slips down. 

Thace is the first to step out of the ship with a scowl on his face. Hazar follows, scrubbing a large hand through his humid-induced curling hair. Their sulking would be laughable if it wasn’t for the three handcuffed prisoners descending from the ramp. With guns raised, everyone warily watches as Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid walk in a single file towards two disgruntled princesses. Kolivan and Coran flank them, looking just as irritated. 

“That’s close enough,” Coran says. 

“It’s been a long time, Sir Coran,” Lotor muses aloud. 

Coran stiffens uncomfortably. 

The exiled prince fixes his gaze to Allura and Larka. 

“Sister, Cousin, it has been equally a long time since I’ve been in the Castle of Lions,” he remarks with a tender smile. “Thank you for taking in my generals, too. I am graciously appreciative of—”

“Stop,” Allura says, raising her hand. “I don’t want to hear any of your flowery words right now. You’ll answer every question we ask of you or there will be consequences. None of your loquaciousness will help you here, Lotor.”

“Hazar, take the prisoners to the high-security cells,” Larka mutters, turning away to head out of the hanger. She doesn’t even spare Lotor a second glance. 

Allura’s eyes narrow. “Perhaps you can get reacquainted with the Castle… starting from that particular location,” she says, following Larka out of the hanger. 

The fur at Zethrid’s nape bristles, rising in anger. She cannot do much as they are led through a side door and into a lift. Before the doors close, Keith catches Acxa’s furtive glances. 

“I don’t like this,” Lance says apprehensively. 

Keith takes a deep breath, swallows down his stifling guilt and says, “Neither do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate the feedback I got! Thank you so much! <3 There won’t be a chapter next week. Chapter fourteen will come out on the fourteenth. See you then!


	14. Fallout

The only thing heard in the kitchen aboard the Castleship is the steady chewing as Keith shovels another handful of fluuto beans in his mouth. His other hand slides down the sparse notations typed on the tablet in the Galran alphabet. 

“You still haven’t finished your report?” Shiro asks, walking into the room with his hair still damp from his shower. 

It’s been a week since they captured Lotor and his generals, opting to hold them in the ship’s brig rather than transferring them to Gal or the Marmora headquarters. It caused a mild delay, forcing the Blades that had been on the mission to stay aboard due to Zarkon’s impending arrival and Lotor’s lack of cooperation. Keith wasn’t the only one who hadn’t turned in his documentation of the last assignment to the Record. 

“Nope,” Keith says after swallowing his food. 

“I thought you hated those things,” Shiro comments, eyeing the bowl of snacks that Keith pilfered from Hunk when the yellow paladin wasn’t looking. 

“Yeah I do, but they’re the only thing that’s here that isn’t food goo or requires cooking,” Keith shrugs.

“ _Central Command had been in contact with the Senfama base three times within the six vargas prior to Marmora agents landing on the moon._ ” Shiro reads aloud. “Really? That’s as far as you got?”

Keith tilts his head back and lets out a groan. “Since when can you read Galra?”

Shiro smirks. “You and Pidge aren’t the only ones studying.” 

Keith chuffs in mild amusement. He places the tablet down and scrubs idly at the nape of his neck. “I can’t focus on it. I think Umaala and Regris already sent theirs in.”

“Yeah, I just saw them leave for HQ,” Shiro says. He lightly bats away Keith’s hand and drags his own calloused fingers down the length of lavender skin. “Why don’t you take a break? Dorma just finished interrogating them and she wants everyone to gather in the lounge.” 

Keith squints up at Shiro. “That’s not a break. That’s just more work.”

“I know,” he shrugs, “but it’ll get your mind off the report.” 

Keith finds himself following Shiro out of the kitchen and down a flight of stairs that lead to the lounge. His aching chest feels tender and he reaches out for Shiro’s robotic one, threading his fingers against the warm metal. 

“I want to talk to you about something later,” Keith says.

“Is it about you throwing yourself into a warship owned by your grandmother?”

Keith winces. He’s been evading this conversation for the past several quintants. He’s hovered around Allura and his mother during magic lessons. He’s wedged Pidge in between Shiro and him at meals. He falls asleep before Shiro even gets back to their shared room, but he’s sure that has more to do with exhaustion and less about avoiding the elephant in the room. He’s done everything he can to stay focused on his report and not have this discussion.

“Who told you?”

Shiro squeezes his hand, pulling him closer. “Matt told me,” he pauses, “but it’s not like everyone doesn’t know already.”

Keith grits his teeth so hard that his jaw twitches. 

“Don’t blame Matt,” Shiro says.

“I don’t.”

“Good,” Shiro murmurs. “But what were you thinking? Regris was in the ship with you.”

“Everyone was trapped on Naxzela. _You_ were trapped on Naxzela. The battle cruiser was the detonator and it was the only—”

“Lieutenant Ozar told you to pull back,” Shiro interrupts. “Everyone was leaving. We had managed to get out in time.”

“Haggar was right there,” Keith argues. “How much do you want to bet that there were a reasonable number of druids aboard that ship? Especially if she was powering that much quintessence through a military-class vessel.”

“That’s not the point,” Shiro says, halting in his tracks to pull Keith to a stop. “I am not in a rush to end this war at the expense of you or any of our other friends.”

“People were dying,” Keith retorts. “We lost at least forty people in the coalition. Ozar’s ships were getting blasted to hell and Haggar was right there ordering her own men to kill off our people. You told me to keep going if anything happened to you. You told me take over as leader of Voltron if anything happened. That’s what _you_ said months ago, completely disregarding how I would feel if you died.”

Shiro’s gaze is heavy and dark, but Keith keeps going.

“I could have died on Senfama if I had stayed there any longer than I needed to, but I didn’t. In this war, there's a risk that any of us at any time could die. We have an even bigger target on our backs now that we have Lotor. What is Zarkon going to do when he finds that out? I haven’t even addressed the fact that Narti and Ezor aren’t with him! But he may be lying about that because one is a druid that can manipulate our thoughts and the other can turn invisible.”

Shiro takes a deep breath before pulling Keith closer and pressing their foreheads together. His skin is dewy against Keith’s and the scent of the ocean still clings to him.

“I understand that,” Shiro says, his words almost coming out as a whine. “I-I just don’t want us to lose each other anymore.”

The pang of tenderness stabs him in the chest once more and his free hand weaves around to grab Shiro by the back of his head. If he could merge their bodies together to become one entity, one cosmic singularity, he would. 

“We—we can’t make those types of promises to each other anymore,” he stutters. “We just have to live like every day is our last.”

Shiro’s forehead creases with his frown. “I hate that. I hate that so much. I don’t want to have to do that anymore.”

“Um… am I interrupting something?” 

Keith internally groans before looking up and turning to see Shiro’s twin. The Galran prince already has his reservations about Ryou’s allegiances. _But he’s trying,_ a more diplomatic part of Keith thinks. And yet he could be feeding them incorrect intel. It’s what he wants to discuss with Shiro, but he can’t do it now for fear that they will get into another argument in the middle of the corridor, that only leaves them wilting against each other like weeping children. 

“The meeting is about to start,” Ryou continues, a line of concern on his mouth. He may be a sarcastic jerk, but he has Shiro’s relentlessness and compassion buried deep down inside him. 

“We’ll be right there,” Shiro says, slowly withdrawing from Keith’s warmth. 

Ryou nods solemnly and turns to head back down the hall. It’s only when he’s disappeared down the corridor that Shiro cradles Keith’s face in his hands, forcing the younger man to look at him.

“J-just promise me you won’t put yourself in a situation like that again,” Shiro says. “Promise me that if it comes down to you and Haggar, you choose life.”

“Takashi—”

“Promise me, Keith,” he interrupts, stroking over Keith’s cheekbones with his thumbs. 

Keith swallows down the anguish that washes over him anew. He nods hastily, but that’s not good enough. 

“Say it,” Shiro murmurs. “Tell me you’ll retreat next time.”

Keith clasps his hands around Shiro’s wrists like weighted manacles, eyebrows knitting together. 

“I promise I’ll retreat,” he relents. 

Shiro’s body sags with relief as he pulls Keith in closer for a hug, pressing his dry lips against his cheek. Keith squeezes back as if the embrace will cleanse him and release him from this overwhelming guilt. He almost killed himself and Regris. If it hadn’t been for Lotor and his warrior women, they’d be dead. His bonding gland itches beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. Before he can ask Shiro to press his lips against the sensitive spot, the black paladin slowly untangles himself from their longing embrace. 

“We should go,” Shiro murmurs with a small smile. “They’ve probably started without us.”

Keith nods, unwilling to speak with his throat so strained and too tight, with that pulsing and itching sensation skittering across his bonding gland. He follows Shiro in silence, mulling over the promise and what it could possibly mean. _…if it comes down to you and Haggar, you choose life._

He licks his lips and straightens his spine as the doors to the lounge slide open. An eruption of bickering is in full swing within the room: a deep voice chastising another and the sounds of boots pacing back and forth. They step into the cacophony.

“…don’t currently have the resources for a project that size,” Kolivan says. 

“It would take phoebs to build something like that,” Thace adds.

“But it would be a benefit,” Coran argues. 

“If we don’t have a prison built somewhere soon,” Allura says angrily, “we’ll end up running out of space on the Castleship.”

“Iverson has one of the cryo pods right now,” Hunk murmurs, “and we’ve got Lotor and his generals in the max security downstairs.”

“Allura’s right,” Pidge says. “If we gain anymore prisoners of war, we’re gonna need to put them somewhere.”

“And you want to put them on Gal?” Larka asks, pacing behind one of the couches. “The same colony where we’re housing refugees and rebels in that quadrant of space.”

“Gal is a big enough planet,” Allura counters. “It could be built.”

“What the hell did we step into?” Keith mutters under his breath, low enough for only Shiro and Ryou — who still stands by the door — to hear.

“They’ve been arguing about this since _before_ Dorma got out of the interrogation,” Ryou says, rolling his eyes. 

Shiro takes a deep breath and places his hands on his hips. 

“Okay,” he starts, “what are we all talking about?”

“I say we need a prison built to house the Galrans and their Imperial sympathizers who won’t join us,” Allura says sourly. “Just until the war is over and war crime trials can begin. Naturally, Larka disagrees.”

Larka stops in her tracks to glare at Allura. “If you want to have hearings, we should do it now. They might have valuable information.”

“And then what?” Allura huffs, leaning back in her seat. “Execute them. I thought we agreed that we’re doing this differently than Zarkon, remember?”

“You want to bring Lotor – our enemy – into one of our major territories,” Larka grimaces. “Am I the only one seeing how badly this can end?”

“Nope,” Lance says, “I agree. We should shove him in an airlock.”

Shiro scrubs a hand through his hair. 

“How about we just deal with what we absolutely know for certain,” he mutters, walking into the room to take the free seat in between Thace and Kolivan. “Dorma,” Shiro nods.

The Blade grimaces, standing from her own seat to switch on the lounge’s large holo-screen. A video feed streams through showing the cell deep in the bowels of the Castle of Lions. If it wasn’t for the prison cell, Keith would have thought they were back at the Deadzone. Zethrid seems normal per usual, busying herself with push-ups. Acxa paces by the reinforced glass screen like an anxious lioness awaiting her next meal. Only Lotor appears tense, sitting on a bench, hunched forward and twiddling his thumbs. 

“I should remind everyone,” Allura remarks, “that that cell is made for only one person.”

“We’ll deal with that, Princess,” Shiro says, “but for now, what do we know about Lotor and his generals? Do we have audio of that room?”

“We do have audio,” Dorma recants, “but it wouldn’t matter. I have my brother guarding the cell and unless one of them is a druid, they aren’t communicating with each other much. Mostly just Acxa asking Lotor if he is comfortable. Zethrid tried to check the integrity of the reinforced glass, but Lotor had called her back. They listen to him. From my interrogation, they don’t seem to have much of an opinion on their current whereabouts. I don’t suppose their blind loyalty bodes well for us.”

“What’s his current relationship with Zarkon?”

“Tenuous at best,” Dorma smirks. “Apparently Zarkon had taken on the personal task of neutralizing Lotor. He doesn’t fully understand what may have set him off, only that he had grown increasingly upset after Lotor did not bring Larka and Kythel to see him phoebs ago.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. 

“When we were at the Deadzone, Haggar had sent Lotor a summons,” Larka confirms. “He said she wanted him to bring Kythel or me. I said to leave him there where it was safer… but Lotor then said he had no intentions of giving us up. When I asked him for clarification, he evaded the question.”

“Whatever he did or did not do may have upset Zarkon and Haggar,” Coran murmurs, “but I find it hard to believe that it was just because a scheduled family reunion was derailed.”

“And why the hell did Zarkon want to see Larka and Keith anyways?” Matt asks, leaning forward.

“He doesn’t trust Lotor,” Hunks says. “He was probably suspicious that Lotor took custody of Larka and Keith for his own personal gain.”

“Or maybe it has something to do with the comet,” Pidge says warily as she readjusts her glasses.

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks.

“Lotor got that comet from us. Lotor builds that gate,” Pidge says definitively. “Maybe Zarkon – like us – was beginning to catch on to Lotor’s plans.”

“Maybe he thought Lotor was planning a coup?” Keith asks aloud.

“All the more reason to throw him in an airlock,” Lance gripes.

“Agreed,” Pidge and Larka say in unison.

“If Pidge is right—” Allura starts tensely. 

“—what’s to stop him from doing that to us?” Keith finishes.

“We’re not going to start executing people just because of their past mistakes,” Shiro says. “Ryou was on the other side of this war once upon a time. He now fights alongside us and helps Coran pilot this ship when Voltron is elsewhere. The Blade of Marmora were once Imperial Galra who knew what Zarkon was doing was wrong and wanted to put a stop to it from the inside. People can change.”

“You want to give him a chance?” Lance shouts. 

“I’m not saying he join us on missions like he’s been with us since the beginning,” Shiro retorts, “but he knows things that the Blades don’t.”

“We still have people in the field,” Kolivan says. “Maybe not at Central Command, but at the borders of the expanse. I have people overseeing operations within the ranks of Zarkon’s council. Sendak has been missing in action since the events at the Deadzone, but we can only assume that he may be close by Zarkon’s side again. But without confirmation, we do not know. There are things that the Blades aren’t privy to. Despite Lotor’s self-exile, he’s had an advantage in scouting his father’s plans ahead of time.”

“Are you serious?” Larka’s mouth agape. “The boy toyed with us for deca-phoebs.”

“And he’s lost everything now,” Kolivan says. “We must be pragmatic about this. Give him options, don’t back him into a corner. Do not react to his indiscretions with anger and recklessness.”

Everyone shifts around awkwardly as Larka and Kolivan have an unspoken conversation with facial expressions alone. Larka’s face softens for only a moment before she relents with a sigh.

“He truly has lost everything,” Dorma reaffirms. “Haggar destroyed all his bases. We’ve checked the flight logs on his ships. When he had hailed you with that distress beacon, it wasn’t because Narti had told them to do it. They were running out of places to go.”

“They were running out of fuel too,” Thace adds. “Coran and I had checked the fuel tanks. They would have stalled sooner or later and ended up drifting into enemy territory. Not to mention that their oxygen levels were low. There’s extensive radiation damage to the outer hulls. They may have flown close to an unstable star. Without his quintessence supply line, they would have died out there.”

“Do you think that his generals – Acxa and the other one – do you think they may know anything that he doesn’t?” Kolivan asks.

Dorma shakes her head. “They seem unwilling to talk, but perhaps we can speak with them separately.”

“See that you do,” Kolivan says, standing to his feet. “I’m adjourning this meeting early if there is nothing left to discuss. Finish your interrogations and then we’ll discuss the use of a prison on Gal. And Kythel,” he says, looking over at Keith who still stands awkwardly beside Ryou. “I need that report.”

\--

“I want to throw up,” Keith murmurs, burrowed in Shiro’s bed sheets.

“It’s because you keep looking at that tablet and not actually doing anything,” Shiro retorts, peeling back the sheets to slip in. “Give it to me. You can finish the report in the mor—” A light tapping on the bedroom door startles them. 

Shiro sighs before rolling out of the bed again. He presses his hand on the keypad and the door slides open. Lance shuffles in wearing his fluffy bathrobe and blue lion slippers, his short hair sticking up at all angles with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Here me out,” he starts without skipping a beat. “Hunk’s tired of listening to me go on and on about this, but I don’t trust Lotor.”

Keith leans up, dropping the tablet to the side. “Okay… join the club.”

“If I’m not the only one, why the hell are we keeping him here?” Lance asks. 

“Stop,” Shiro says. “What are you going on about?”

“We’re trapped on Naxzela for nearly an hour! Haggar was about the blow us up sky high and Lotor comes out of nowhere and disables her ship in less time than it took the rebels to even make a dent in her forces.”

“His ships are made out of a comet,” Shiro explains. “Of course he’d have the capabilities to incapacitate her ship. If Voltron were any closer, we could have done the same. That's why she was out of reach. She knew the risks.”

Lance shakes his head, as if Shiro’s answer isn’t good enough for him. 

“When Zarkon finds out we have Lotor, what will happen then?” Lance asks. 

“What are you implying?” Keith counters.

Lance pauses to anxiously lick his lips. “What if someone on our side is feeding intel to Haggar or Zarkon?”

“We’ve been through this already, Lance,” Shiro remarks. His tone sounds weary, like they’ve had this conversation before. “Ryou checks out. His link to Haggar is severed.”

“But he was working for Lotor before,” Keith says. 

Lance throws his hands up in relief at having someone finally on his side. 

Keith turns to Shiro, crossing his arms over his chest too. “Lance isn’t the only one thinking it,” he says. “Pidge and my mom also agree."

"Pidge doubts Lotor because of the connection he has with her father," Shiro retorts, "and if you look up 'sibling rivalry' in the intergalactic dictionary, a picture of your mom and Lotor would show up." 

Lance snorts back a laugh.

"Listen, let’s give Ryou the benefit of the doubt," Keith says, trying to keep down his own smile. "Maybe he hasn’t been in communication with Lotor. Maybe Narti really did want Lotor in our custody so we could protect him. But that doesn’t mean that he’s trustworthy.”

Lance nods in affirmation. “Haggar had kept us busy so that she could take us out. Central Command left Senfama and Teq out to dry. They abandoned their people just so that they could kill the rebels and Voltron. Ozar lost too many people out there. We’re lucky we managed to get out at all.”

“And that means that Ryou or someone else had something to do with it?” Shiro drawls. 

Lance rolls his eyes, scrubbing at his forehead. “I don’t know,” he gesticulates. “It’s not like I have any leads. It’s just that… something didn’t feel right about any of that. Why keep all your people on that base when they knew we had taken control of this region of the Galra Empire?”

Shiro chews on his lower lip. “I’ll look in to it.”

Lance lets out a breath of relief. “That’s all I’m asking.” Without even saying goodbye, Lance leaves. Although he may have gotten the recognition he wanted out of Shiro, he still seems upset. 

“I agree with him,” Keith says after the door slides shut. He stands up, pulling on his shirt that rests at the foot of the bed. 

“Where are you going?” Shiro asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“ _We_ are going to see Lotor.”

“Keith, no.”

“Come on. Put some clothes on,” Keith says, shoving his legs into a pair of dark sweatpants that ride up his ankles. 

“When Kolivan says for people to finish their interrogations,” Shiro starts, “I don’t think he was talking about us.”

Keith belts on the scabbard that holds his blade. “Are you coming or are you going to keep giving me excuses?”

Shiro huffs loudly, throwing on his own shirt before following Keith out of their room. They take the nearest elevator that will bring them to the deepest cell on the ship.

\--

Keith’s hands shake more out of anger than pure nervousness. This is a part of the ship that he’s never been in. It’s dark and slightly damp, but just seeing Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid again makes his chest swell with rage. These are the same people who had left him and his mom at the Deadzone space station. They were forced to depend on Sendak to get them to safety and that had been a tough pill for his mom to swallow. 

But there is a part of him – the same part that makes him want to trust Ryou – that says, _maybe he and Lance are wrong_. Maybe Lotor can be trustworthy. He had saved Keith when he had been bent on taking both his and Regris’ lives to Haggar’s warship. And Dorma is right; Lotor has lost everything but his generals and their loyalty. 

Despite all his wrongdoings and aspirations, fatigue washes over Lotor’s face in the bright light of the prison. The exiled prince’s hands tremble just as much as his own do. Yet the closer he and Shiro get to the cell, a slow smirk rises upon Lotor’s face. 

Zethrid has started to do crunches in these late vargas of the evening, with Acxa holding down her toes. 

“She keeps cheating,” Lotor drawls.

Keith’s gaze flickers back to Lotor. 

“I do not,” Zethrid grouses with a chuckle. “I just like it when Acxa anchors my feet.”

Acxa rolls her eyes. 

“You should use your abdomen, not your hips,” Shiro says. “You’re straining yourself.”

Zethrid chuffs, lifting a heavy brow. “I would do well if the black paladin was my personal trainer.”

“Don’t tease them, Zethrid,” Lotor scolds. “We’re guests here.”

Keith's hands tighten into fists. How can they just act like this is normal? 

“Are you here to interrogate us, too?” Lotor asks. 

Keith ignores him, taking a step forward so that he’s mere inches away from the glass. “Why does Narti want to protect you and what do you know about Solthro?” 

“Solthro?” Lotor repeats the name, humming softly. “I told that Blade everything. What was her name again?”

“Dorma,” Acxa supplies.

“Ah, yes,” Lotor hums. “Dorma... Dorma was the one to question us. What more do you need? You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Do you really think we’ll trust you,” Keith berates, “after everything you did? I told you once that you’re our enemy because you’ve been uncooperative before.”

“I believe you used different words than that,” Lotor retorts. 

“And you haven’t told us anything we don’t already know,” Keith says angrily. “Why save us? Is it just because you needed us in that moment? Because you were stranded?”

“Do you have someone working for you?” Shiro asks. “Someone from our side. Ryou? Is he still working for you?”

Lotor is about to open his mouth, no doubt in some lame attempt to deflect, when the elevator doors open. His mouth shuts and his jaw clenches as he looks past them to the two figures by the lift. Keith hears their gait, slow and steady and persistent. 

“Keith, Shiro,” Allura says, sidling up to them. “Leave us. Larka and I want to talk to the prisoners.”

Without another word, Shiro grabs at Keith’s hand and pulls him away from the glass. Keith bumps into his mother as he passes, but she doesn’t notice. Her expression is steely as she gazes back at her brother beyond the glass. He can feel the anger radiating from the princesses. If he was a pious man, Keith is sure he’d pray for Lotor. This is one family reunion that he wants no part in.


	15. Credence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologizes for the lateness of this chapter. I had some emergency things come up which got in the way of my posting schedule. I hope some Lotor angst makes up for it.

The fact that Zethrid and Acxa are still with him does nothing to quell the shuddering sense of anxiety that travels through his body. Larka and Allura look the same as he last saw them. Larka, mere phoebs ago, had slithered her way aboard his ship to kill him. But Allura – this is the first time he’s seen her properly since the war began ten thousand years ago. She looks the same, angrier and harsher, but still with the same gentle softness as before.

Larka had been the contemptuous and rigid and overprotective sister; Allura was the kinder one, the sister-like figure he went to when he scraped his knee or couldn’t find his favorite toy. Although they all had their issues with one another growing up, there had still been a resilient bond between the three of them. But that had long since passed.

“Why is Father after you so badly?” Larka asks. Her fists are balled by her sides, her jaw working so hard she may break it.

“I don’t know,” he answers.

“You must have done something to anger him if he’d chase you nonstop through five quadrants of space,” Larka smiles. “Did you steal something? The Empire has laws against that. Could you have _accidentally_ taken something?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats, lips twitching. Is it bad that he’s enjoying this? Seeing his sister toying with him like he had done to her; it fills him with some strange sort of pride.

“Alright, well let’s try something different,” she continues. “Why did Haggar take over the military? Father just handed it over to her as if she had any military experience. Have you been in communication with her? Did you know if she was capable of executing a contingency plan like the one on Naxzela? Has she been running the military for the past several phoebs since Father began searching for you?”

“I don’t know,” Lotor sighs.

“Is there anything you do know?” Allura finally gripes, arms crossed over her chest. She tilts her head to the side. “Because it seems that you were just begging for sanctuary. Now that you’ve gained that protection, you’ve fallen silent.”

Zethrid stands to her feet, mouth opening to say something in his defense but Lotor raises his hand.

“It’s alright,” Lotor murmurs. “She’s correct. We’ve requested sanctuary and I have not been forthcoming with information. But I’ve told everything to the Blade who visited us earlier. She said that everything would be sent to the Record and then disseminated. Has something gone wrong with the dissemination of that knowledge?”

“You think this is a game?” Allura asks.

“Absolutely not,” Lotor smiles.

“There are only a few ways this plays out,” the Altean princess continues as Larka begins pacing like she is the one in the cage and not him, “where you and your generals make it out alive.”

“Narti made you promise to keep him safe!” Zethrid’s chilling gaze locks with Larka’s.

“This is the great favor she demands from the Blade of Marmora?” Larka asks, almost chuckling. “Protection for Lotor and his loyalists. If I wasn’t so angry, I’d actually find this amusing.”

“Larka, I told your son that you have us at a disadvantage. You hold all the pow—”

“Don’t talk about my son as if you know him.” Larka grits her teeth. For a tick, Lotor believes she’ll break the glass with a well-aimed fist.

“Well, I did spend time training him for a bit,” Lotor smiles.

“You left us on your crumbling space station!”

“But you got out alive.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Enough!” Allura shouts. “Just shut up! The both of you!” She scrubs at her forehead with her fingertips as if that will dispel the emerging migraine.

Lotor looks away.

“You and your loyalists will be given proper sanctuary,” Allura says. “ _If_ , and only if, you tell us everything you know. You have insight that the coalition does not have. You had a brief amount of power before Zarkon came out of his coma. You know his commanders. You know his druids. You know his council. You know how they operate since the Blades have pulled the majority of their agents out of the field in order to track you down and find out about your supply line. Things must have changed within the last deca-phoeb. You have that knowledge.”

“Information for protection? That’s what you want?” Acxa asks, striding forward to stand by Zethrid.

“Acxa…” Lotor scolds.

“That’s not all,” Allura continues. “After you tell us everything, you will then work alongside us to remove Zarkon from power and to successfully entrap Haggar.”

The cell is silent for only a few ticks before Zethrid lets out a deep bellow of a laugh. “You want to remove Zarkon from power? He just regained it!”

“That’s impossible,” Acxa murmurs.

Lotor lifts his gaze to his sister and cousin. They’re serious. Entirely too serious. Lotor rises from his seat.

“Who would you put in his place? Hmm? Me? Larka?” he asks, gesturing to his sister. Then he crosses his arms over his chest, almost mocking Allura’s stance. “Sendak?”

Interest flutters in Larka’s gaze. 

“Sendak is still alive?” she asks. 

“He is by Zarkon’s side once more,” Lotor says airily.

“He could be telling Father all about your secrets,” Larka mocks. 

Lotor shrugs. “Perhaps.”

As quickly as that shimmer of interest appears, it vanishes. Lotor takes a deep breath. His sister may play the hero, but she’s just as ruthless as he is. She must be in order to have lasted this long. She’ll exploit his weakness now that she has this power over him.

“Larka,” Allura finally says. “We’ll put Larka in his place.”

His sister’s eyebrows knit together, lavender face blanching to lilac. Her curious gaze shifts to Allura before the anger reemerges once again.

Lotor lets out a slow chuckle. “Cousin, it seems you didn’t double-check with Empress Larka before demanding she be seated on that throne.”

Larka’s fists tighten, letting out a deep breath before facing him once more. He imagines that she wishes to wring his neck.

“You should think this over,” Allura says, “but not for too long. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to join forces. What did Narti say, Larka?”

“Loyalists of Lotor and the Blade of Marmora will make a righteous alliance in the phoebs to come.” Larka recites her words as if it’s physically painful. He doesn’t doubt it was. What had Narti been thinking when she and Acxa went against his orders? Requesting help from Larka and Allura – two women who—

Lotor shakes his head. They couldn’t have just listened to him. His generals, the druids, Larka, and Allura… none of them couldn’t just be patient and wait until he had what he needed and there would finally be peace.

 _I could have offered them something magnificent,_ he thinks. _Something even Mother would be proud of…_

“And if I don’t?” he starts. “If I don’t agree to these terms—”

“Lotor, please,” Acxa tries to interrupt, but he raises his hand to silence her.

“What if I don’t agree to divulge all my secrets, to place Larka on Father’s throne, or _save_ Haggar from her undoing?”

“I’ll execute you like I should have done a long time ago,” Larka remarks.

Zethrid snarls by his side, but it’s the eerie glint in Larka’s golden eyes that makes his breath hitch in his throat. She _had_ come on his ship to behead him. But it was Voltron who had current custody of him until they probably transferred him to the Blades. Would Larka take him to the colony of Gal and have him publicly beheaded before the entire coalition and all those that the Blades and Paladins had freed? Every Galra Imperial that was able to escape Zarkon’s clutches… Were they all waiting to see him defeated by his gracious sister’s bloodied hands? Or would her heir do it? The boy with eyes like him. The boy with thick dark hair and lavender skin who had tried to trust Lotor all those phoebs ago. Would the benevolent Prince Kythel execute the disgraced Prince Lotor in front of Empress Larka? Would Queen Allura and the genteel Honerva, The Empress Mother, laugh as they watched? Could he sit back uselessly as his family purged him from the family tree?

Lotor swallows around the bile threatening to crawl its way up his esophagus. He watches with misty eyes as Larka and Allura stride from the brig and slip into the lift, elevating to somewhere above. Too far out of reach for him to catch up. Always left behind.

~~

“That was harsh,” Allura says, pursing her lips.

Larka leans against the landing’s doorway, arms on her knees. “He just infuriates me.”

“I know,” Allura murmurs, “but you can’t allow him to get under your skin. He knows how to make you reckless.”

She sighs, straightening up. “Do you believe that he knows nothing?” 

“Of course not,” Allura scoffs. “We need that information he has but he doesn’t trust us. Kolivan is right. We can’t corner him.”

“We need to—”

“What are they saying?” Lance taps his shoulder incessantly. 

Keith shrugs him off, peering around the corner where Allura and his mother have perched outside the elevator. “I can’t hear if you keep whispering in my ear.”

“We’re going to get caught,” Shiro murmurs, leaning back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. 

“We won’t if Lance shuts up,” Keith hisses. 

“Hey guys, I made milkshakes. They're in the—” Hunk appears, frosted glass in hand and slurping loudly through a straw. “W-what are we doing?” He asks staring from Shiro to Lance and Keith. 

Shiro shakes his head. 

“Shh!” Lance hushes loudly. “Are you trying to get us caught?”

Keith turns back to peer around the shoulder only to jump as he’s met with Allura’s disgruntled face. 

“Are you all spying on us?” Allura asks.

“No?” Lance winces. “We’re just patiently waiting for you guys to finish your conversation.”

“How did it go?” Keith inquires. 

“How did what go?” Hunk asks.

“The interrogation,” Lance says. 

“He says he doesn’t know anything,” Allura says. 

“But he’s lying, right?” Keith asks. 

“How does he not know anything?” Shiro asks, folding his arms across his chest. “Isn’t there a way we can get in his mind or—”

“No,” Larka interrupts up. “If you want to do this fairly, I’m not using druid magic to get him to speak. For all we know he could probably resist me. Kolivan and Allura are right. We should at least attempt to be cordial with him.”

“You don’t really think that, right, Mom?” Keith asks.

“You just threatened to execute him,” Allura says, lifting her brows questioningly. 

“I wasn’t serious,” Larka mutters flippantly. “He might not even know what Solthro is trying to accomplish.”

“Are you saying that he could have been used by Pidge's dad?” Shiro asks. 

“If they were truly allies, why wouldn’t Lotor have sought him out instead of us?” Larka ponders aloud.

“Narti seemed eager that we get him and not Solthro,” Keith adds.

“Perhaps she doesn’t trust the druids she’s been raised with,” Allura says.

“Possibly, but we won’t know much about her loyalties until she starts feeding us more intel," Larka pauses. "Now, Allura, do you care to explain what you were talking about back there? Dethroning Zarkon? Putting me on a throne?”

“Wow,” Hunk murmurs. “I suddenly don’t want to be here.” 

“You have to be out of our mind,” Larka says, staring at Allura. “Are you telling me all of you know about this ludicrous plan?” 

Keith scuffs his toe against the wall, interested in a spot of dirt and dust. 

“I’m surrounded by children,” Larka deadpans.

“Don’t be upset,” Allura says, hands tugging on her cousin's arm. “We just have something serious to discuss with you.”

\--

Keith wasn’t expecting the conversation to go well. Not when Allura herded them back to the lounge where Thace and Coran were watching some news broadcast on the holo-screen. Not when the two older men looked just as guilty as they did and tried to creep from the room. Instead his mother had gone silent as Allura shared her plans. It wasn’t an anger he was accustomed to; usually Larka was openly upset, eager to lash out at the closest person before giving someone the silent treatment and locking herself up in her laboratory. It usually worked with him too, disappearing after a heated argument before something worse could break out. 

He can tell that even Allura was expecting a volcanic eruption by the fact that she’s already wincing. But it doesn’t happen. Larka only takes one glance at Thace before saying, “Absolutely not.”

“Hear them out,” he says.

“I just did,” she replies curtly.

“This could be a good way for us to gain access from the inside again. We can make real systemic change. Cut back on the empire’s expansion by writing proper laws and treaties. We can pull back troops and redistribute resources,” Thace explains. “Diplomacy. It’s something your father was never good at, and I’m sure there are Galra out there who want to put a stop to this cycle of violence.”

“How many of those Galra did you work with when you were stationed at Central Command?” Larka bites back.

Thace mulls over her words, but he quickly brushes off her sarcasm. “There are Alteans out there who are willing to support your claim. Don’t you think you should try?”

“You know our people,” she murmurs. “They won’t accept this without a fight. Diplomatic strategy will only go so far. Do you really think they’ll tolerate any Altean-backed leader? Zarkon has poisoned them against all others. You’ve seen how they treat _half-breeds_.” She spits out the word like its poison, as if she and Keith and Lotor and his generals and the countless hybrids hidden away are a population of the Galra that will never fully be accepted.

“Will you at least think about it?” Allura asks. 

“Who else knows?” Larka answers with another question.

“Pidge, Matt, Ryou, Ozar and the others of course,” Allura answers.

“How many of ours?” Larka looks at her husband. 

“Only Kolivan and Antok,” Thace says.

“I thought we weren’t keeping secrets anymore,” she murmurs.

“We needed this last gambit close to our chest,” Thace retorts. “We’ve got Lotor. We can use him as an ally. Do you really think Zarkon is going to want Allura, Lotor, and you working together? Bring your brother into the coalition. Strengthen this family before Zarkon tries to pry us apart again.” 

This wasn’t how Keith had expected this to go. He thought that Allura, Matt, or Shiro would have to be the ones to nudge his mother in this direction. He hadn’t expected his father and the Marmora leadership to want to go down this path too.

 _But the Blades have the coalition now,_ Keith thinks. _They have allies and it’s safer to work out in the open rather than cloister themselves away in the dark._

Thace presses a hand on Larka’s thigh and squeezes. “Just say you’ll think about it.”

Larka’s brows furrow. 

Keith thinks back to one of the first moments when he’d seen his parents together. In a small room back at headquarters. He had silently followed his mother down into the depths of the base, watched quietly as his mother and father leaned against each other in contemplative exhaustion. He had felt like he had evaded that moment. He feels like he’s breaching that privacy again. This is a discussion they should be having in private. This decision wouldn’t just affect the Blade of Marmora and all they had known, but his parents’ marriage too.

His father didn’t marry his mother because he wanted an important station within the Empire like Sendak had craved. Thace married Larka because he loved her and believed in her. But his life and their marriage would change if they continued down this path.

“I’ll think about it,” she murmurs, standing to her feet, “but not now. Colleen and Ulaz are coming to retrieve me.”

“What? Why?” Allura asks.

“We have to meet with Ryner about a new project,” Larka says. “Encapsulation shields for all of the coalition settlements. That includes the colony of Gal. Safety comes before building some prison.”

Allura clenches her jaw. 

“Slav will oversee the installations—”

“Kolivan needs you here during his interrogation with Lotor,” Coran says, voice wavering. “Both you and Allura must be there.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

It’s Thace who answers. “Kolivan is planning on giving them an ultimatum.”

Hunk narrows his eyes. “What type of ultimatum?”

“Join the Blade of Marmora or stay imprisoned.”


	16. Loose Ends

The next morning Keith wakes up to cramps and Shiro’s datapad alarm blaring in his ears. He sluggishly pulls himself to the edge of the bed, hand jabbing haphazardly at the touchscreen. 

“Turn it off,” Shiro murmurs into his shoulder. 

“I’m trying,” he replies. 

After a few swipes, the alarm turns off. Keith rolls back over, curling into Shiro’s chest. 

“We should get up,” Shiro says.

“Too tired,” Keith whispers, “just a little bit more.”

Shiro grins, fingers threading through Keith’s unruly hair. “Come on, farm boy. You’re usually an early riser.”

“Five more minutes. Please.”

“Fine,” Shiro relents. 

The brief silence is broken once more at the sound of a palm hitting their door. 

“Get up,” Pidge says. “Full day ahead. Everybody has stuff to do. I don’t wanna have to come back around.”

Keith groans. 

“I told you,” Shiro singsongs.

The black paladin kicks the sheets down to the foot of the bed and nudges him off. They busy themselves with a quick shower before brushing their teeth and throwing on their clothes. 

“You know I’m going to have to leave for Gal soon,” Keith says, zipping up his boots.

Shiro sighs, rubbing his towel over his damp hair. “I know. You going to leave with your dad?”

“Probably, maybe,” he replies. “If Mom is heading out with Mrs. Holt and Ulaz, I should probably catch a ride with my dad or Kolivan.”

“Or you could stay longer,” Shiro says, cocking his head to the side.

Keith smiles. “I could, but that depends on what’s in store for Lotor.”

“I thought the Blades had strict rules when it came to letting people in,” Shiro ponders aloud.

“Times change,” Keith shrugs. “There are probably some who won’t agree with this, but it’s Kolivan’s call. If he wants to let Lotor and his generals into the fold, that’s on him.”

“You don’t think it’s reckless?” Shiro asks.

“Not really,” Keith mutters. “I’m not saying I trust them, but they have valuable information, right? And I’m sure Kolivan isn’t going to let them wander around headquarters unleashed.”

“I doubt he’ll even allow them at HQ at all,” Shiro retorts. “I just hope this is the right way to do this.”

Kolivan wants to train Lotor. How bad could that be? Keith nods, rolling his tense shoulders. No matter how many times he shrugs, he can’t unfurl the knotted stiffness.

“Maybe we should ask Slav about the amount of possibilities this could go wrong,” Keith quips.

Shiro cringes. “Please, no.”

Keith stifles his smile behind a hand and grabs his own datapad from its charging bay. Once Shiro buckles on his utility belt, they venture down to the kitchen for toast and food goo spread. The kitchen is empty save for Bae Bae still crunching down his own breakfast. The food goo isn’t something Keith really wants to eat, but he swallows it down as he finalizes his report and sends it to headquarters. Keith is refilling Bae Bae’s water bowl when Lance and Hunk amble into the kitchen, groaning and shuffling on drowsy feet.

“I thought we left the Galaxy Garrison,” Lance mumbles. “Why is she waking us up at the buttcrack of dawn?”

“Big day?” Keith supplies. 

“She has me milking Kaltenecker while I’m half asleep,” Hunk groans. “I thought it was Pidge’s day to take care of her.” 

“You all want a cow, you have to take care of it,” Shiro mumbles around a mouthful of toast, crumbs falling to the plate. 

“Where is Pidge anyway?” Keith asks.

“Her and Matt have been spending time with her mom since she and Ulaz got in last night,” Hunk explains. “Also… do you all mind if I take a week off next month… if things calm down around here? I want to take Shay flying.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, “just remind Coran. You know he likes to chart everything.”

“Coran has a chart now?” Keith asks. 

“A chart for chores, a chart for vacations, a chart for when we’re allowed to use the pool,” Lance sighs, patting a large portion of goo on his slice of toast. 

Keith shakes his head, sliding his plate forward.

Shiro’s gaze roves over his food. “You hardly ate?”

“Not really feeling this,” Keith murmurs.

“Yeah, Shiro,” Hunk scoffs. “Carnivorous Galra Keith needs meat.” 

“That’s a myth,” a voice says from the doorway. “We’ve adapted to most foods that the rest of the universe’s population eats.” Dorma stands, arms crossed over her chest. “Sorry to interrupt, boys. But Kythel, Kolivan requests that you be at the interrogation.”

“Right now?”

Dorma nods. “In the lounge.”

“In the lounge?” Lance sputters. “Are you saying that demon is unfettered and roaming?”

Dorma bites her lower lip, trying to keep the smile from his face. “I assure you that all the prisoners are not only under surveillance but surrounded by competent fighters too.”

“I’ll be right there, Dorma,” says Keith. 

She nods again and disappears out into the hallway.

“They’re really going to go ahead and do this?” Hunk asks. “He’s been our enemy for months.”

“He has information on Pidge’s dad and Zarkon,” Shiro says. “We also need to know what he’s planning with that gate. Kolivan will get it out of him.”

\--

Keith finds Hazar guarding outside the main lounge doorway. 

“Has it started yet?” he asks. 

“Waiting on Princess Allura and your mother,” Hazar’s deep voice sounds exhausted. He nods towards the door. “Hurry up.”

Keith nods, letting the doors slide open. He stalls at the sight before him.

Lance was right. 

Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid are all standing without handcuffs as if it’s just another normal day aboard the Castle of Lions. Coran, Kolivan, Thace, Ulaz, and Dorma all sit in a semi-circle across the couches. It looks like less of an interrogation and more like a bunch of parents about to admonish their children for bad behavior and breaking curfew. 

“Good, son,” Thace greets, patting the space beside him, “you’re here. Come sit.”

Keith tentatively walks around before slipping into the free seat. 

“When is this going to start?” Lotor asks, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. 

“Soon,” Kolivan says. “Don’t be in such a rush to hear my verdict.”

“If it’s the order of my execution,” Lotor starts, tilting his head to the side, “I would like for you to spare my generals.”

Acxa’s head snaps in his direction and Zethrid growls lowly. 

“There won’t be any executions this quintant,” Coran says.

The lounge’s side door slides open revealing Allura and Larka.

“Apologies for our lateness,” Larka says as she and Allura take the two empty seats on the couch. 

Allura settles down with a clenched jaw and Keith instantly knows what they were fighting about. But it isn’t the time to approach that conversation. He straightens his shoulders, settling back as Kolivan conducts the introductions.

“You were not forthcoming with Dorma or Larka and Allura,” Kolivan says. “Perhaps you’ll be fond of an open discussion.”

Lotor shrugs.

“The Blade of Marmora has been following your supply line for the past few phoebs. We found some interesting information. You’ve been procuring a volatile form of quintessence by filling in the missing pieces of Larka’s formula. Every rebel science team has been studying its properties and we’ve come to realize that you need help to complete this project of yours,” Kolivan pauses, gesturing over at Larka. “Your sister said that you had been briefly willing to share those sources with her, but that never came to fruition. How come?”

“We were attacked by Zarkon,” Lotor answers. “I had to abandon several bases. I’m assuming you already know this.”

“Yes, we do,” Kolivan nods. “But we’ve now come to understand that your science team has been made up of a faction of rogue druids. One of their leaders happens to be the green paladin’s father.”

Lotor’s brow lifts in question. He fixes his gaze on Keith. “You have more Alteans on your team?”

Kolivan narrows his eyes. “Lotor, we will share our knowledge with you, but it comes with a price. The Blade of Marmora values secrecy, trust, and loyalty. We have little use for flippancy.” 

“Spare me your rules, sir,” Lotor murmurs. 

“We received coordinates from an unknown frequency,” Kolivan continues with a terse frown. “I can only assume it had been from Narti.”

The first sign of worry creases across Lotor’s forehead. 

“These coordinates took us back to our lost planet of Daibazaal,” Kolivan says. “Do you know what we found?”

Lotor’s fists tighten. 

“A gate,” Kolivan answers his own question. “Tell me: how does a prince in self-exile commission the manufacturing of a trans-reality gate, built with slave labor?” 

Acxa nervously shifts on her feet, eyes wide and staring at Lotor’s profile. Zethrid stares down at the floor.

 _Did they think we wouldn’t know?_ Keith thinks. _Or do they think that Narti told us too much information?_

“Did your father find out about the second comet?” Kolivan asks, cocking his head to the side. “Is that why he was chasing you?”

“Keeping this kind of technology from Zarkon is considered treason by his council,” Ulaz adds. “The kind of disloyalty that gets you killed. Keeping your mother’s notations and energy samples without reporting the findings could also have you executed.”

“Not to mention stealing clones from a project that has gone rogue,” Dorma says.

The room falls silent, the only thing being heard is the ancient creaking of the ship sailing through space. In the corner of his vision, his mother’s hands rest tightly on her knees. Allura’s foot quietly taps against the floor. 

“What are your goals, Lotor?” Thace asks apprehensively.

Lotor purses his lips, taking a sharp breath through his nose. His shoulders sag in defeat. “It’s an inter-reality gate. I wish to breach the narrow dimension between realities and siphon quintessence from them. I would be able to create a pathway into that field of power and have access to unlimited, clean energy.”

“Are you touched in the head?” Larka inquires, leaning forward.

“It is a better option than sucking planets dry, destroying civilizations, and leaving behind empty husks,” Lotor retorts. “Or haven’t you had enough of the Komar technology that Haggar has created?”

“Instead, you’d rather rip apart the delicate fabric of space?” Allura asks. 

“We are reliant on quintessence,” Lotor says. “It’s our fuel. It’s in our weapons and in our nourishment. It is an unavoidable resource. We cannot survive without it. It isn’t only the Galra. Zarkon has made every colonized world reliant on quintessence. Every person touched by the Imperial Galra’s conquest is subjected to this... How many non-Galra sapient life forms need to power their ships with quintessence in order to travel through quadrants? How much dark energy does the Blade of Marmora need to power their headquarters and the colony of Gal? How much of it is fused with the technology of the Olkari? We need quintessence. It is the one true currency.” 

Lotor takes a hasty step forward, misty-eyed and pleading. “Zarkon has made every breathing person reliant on this source of energy for ten thousand years! But it isn’t peacefully given. He has his people fight among themselves for meager resources. He has oppressed people fighting friends and family for crumbs. Only those who fall in line are granted any sort of reprieve. Do you think his council fights for quintessence? Do you think Sendak has ever had to scrape resources together like the Blade of Marmora has? No. Loyalty to Zarkon has its benefits. Anyone caught in the crossfire doesn’t matter to soldiers like Throk and Gnov. But if I… if we ban together, if we can widen the remnants of that rift and create a pipeline to that dimension, we could give quintessence to all. Freely. Peacefully. Is that not worth more than a simple gash in the void?”

“This is supposed to be an altruistic endeavor on your part?” Coran asks. “King Alfor tried to be diplomatic with your mother and father before the war. He wanted to experiment with the samples in order to begin a project towards clean energy, but that wasn’t enough for them. Unlimited power for ships and war machines; that’s what Emperor Zarkon and Empress Honerva wanted. They forced him to keep secrets from everyone, even his own advisers, lest it be discovered that he was seeking out another comet.”

“Are you questioning my loyalty to Zarkon and his witch?” Lotor asks, spitting out the last bit like a curse. “I am nothing like them. My loyalty is to the people of this universe and no one else. My dear sister may have been the one who enjoyed carrying the weight of our parents’ sins, but I do not. What they did had nothing to do with me.”

Keith’s mother stiffens beside him, eyes widening at Lotor’s words. A pressure simmers between the two siblings. He takes a hasty glance at his dad, but the older man shakes his head. 

“What about the druids?” Keith asks, attempting to defuse the palpable tension. “The ones who funded your projects. You were in self-exile, outside Zarkon’s control. How did you deal with them? Did they search you out?” 

Lotor’s gaze shifts between the mother and son before finally settling on Keith. 

“I know of Lord Solthro,” Lotor replies. “I believe he was a descendant of one of the few Altean colonies that had joined the Galra Empire during the war. However, we have never been formally introduced. All of my dealings were with Druid Malax. From what I’ve heard through the frequencies after you all claimed Gal and his recent endeavors, Malax went up in rank and now serves as a priest.”

“How did he reach you?” Thace asks.

“You are familiar with Druid Malax?” Lotor inquires, cocking his head to the side. 

“Unfortunately, we’ve met before,” Thace grimaces, sharing a fleeting look with Kolivan. 

“How did he reach you?” Larka repeats.

“Narti was our liaison,” Lotor sighs. “She studied the druid’s dark magic since she was a child. She could go up against them in terms of mental and magical prowess. After I took the remnants of Mother’s research, I was contacted by this rogue group working outside Haggar’s influence. He claimed he could get me the money and resources to continue with the research… as long as I focused on studying quintessence. He delivered on his promise. It wasn’t as if I had a problem with it either. I enjoyed studying what was left of Mother’s work.”

“So Malax and Narti served Solthro and you, respectively?” Kolivan clarifies.

“Yes,” Lotor answers, “they carried out our dealings. I’m assuming that Solthro had his own projects that he was working on and had no time for meeting with an exiled prince with no fortune and only his mother’s notes.”

“Other projects like cloning humans,” Allura murmurs, turning to Larka.

His mother nods slowly.

Lotor narrows his eyes. “What do you mean? The cloning project is Haggar’s.”

“I’m starting to think that that may not be correct,” Larka says. “We went to Earth—”

“Y-you went to Earth?” Lotor sputters with wide eyes. 

“They had cloning facilities unknown to the rest of the Empire,” Larka explains. “They were surveying where I had placed the Blue Lion. Were you not aware that Solthro’s reach was that great?”

Lotor shakes his head, mouth slightly agape.

Kolivan sighs. “I thank you for this information, Prince Lotor.”

“I’m hardly a prince any—”

“I’m not finished,” Kolivan says abruptly, raising a hand. “It seems we have a common enemy: Zarkon. I disapprove with your ideology that we should harvest quintessence in such a manner. You may have been too young to remember, but it did not work well for our past. Your sister and I have strengthened the Blade of Marmora with this type of information for deca-phoebs. We’ve put our lives on the line to keep our eyes on Zarkon and sabotage when we could. We put family members in harm’s way for the sake of the mission. Secrecy and trust are valuable qualities, but I’ve learned by joining forces with Team Voltron that the coalition is only as strong as its members’ amity with one another. 

“When Kythel joined our organization,” Kolivan continues, “he was searching for your sister. She had given him up to protect him from you and your father because you were both untrustworthy when it came to protecting family from darkness. That is why I give you and your generals a chance to make amends this quintant.”

Surprise washes over Lotor’s face. This isn’t what he was expecting. “W-what? What are you saying?”

“Join the Blade of Marmora,” Kolivan says, gaze sweeping over Acxa and Zethrid. The two of them look even more baffled. 

Lotor’s throat works. “Or what? Larka? What if I say no?” 

“Allura wants me to build a proper prison in the wilderness of Gal,” Larka says, leaning back. “I’ll have it built posthaste. When it’s completed, you and your generals will spend the rest of your lives there.”

Zethrid shifts on her feet, as if the mere thought of being locked up forever is too much to stomach. Keith doesn’t blame her. 

“But I don’t want to do that,” Larka adds. “I’d rather not.”

“A last piece of affection for me?” Lotor smirks. 

“Whether I like it or not, you’re still my brother,” Larka remarks. “I should have trained you rather than hide you away from Mother’s madness. That was my mistake.”

Lotor, bristled and distraught, stares down at the floor. Was he anticipating this softness from her? Would he think of it as weakness? 

“Lotor,” Acxa murmurs, “perhaps we should join them. We can’t accomplish anything from inside a cell.”

Kolivan’s yellow eyes flick over to Acxa, narrowing at her stern decisiveness. 

“Yeah, maybe working with Kythel won’t be so bad,” Zethrid says, smiling. 

“I’m not training you,” Keith scoffs. 

“Actually, you will,” Kolivan says. 

“What?” Keith warbles. 

“If Lotor agrees, the three of you will be training alongside Keith and his team. Ilun will oversee your Trials and your choice in a blade,” Kolivan explains. “If you make it through the grueling tests and requirements, you’ll officially join us. You won’t be given unregulated access to all our information. That is where trust becomes important. Prove yourself to be a Blade.” 

\--

“And he said _yes_?” Hunk squeals, hands clenching the gaming controller so tightly that streaks of sweat cover the buttons and toggles. 

“Yeah,” Keith says taking a sip from Pidge’s milkshake as he watches their characters punch each other on the screen. “And now I’m stuck babysitting.”

“Did you tell Shiro and Ryou yet?” Hunk asks. 

Keith shakes his head. “I caught Shiro in the hallway after the interrogation, but he said Ulaz and my mom had to talk to him and Ryou.”

“About what?” Hunk groans after Pidge knocks him off a wobbly ledge and into a pit of lava. 

“Something about Coran and piloting the ship,” Keith says, petting a sleepy Bae Bae on his head. “I think they wanted to sort some things out before they leave for Olkarion. Speaking of that. Pidge, how was your day with your mom?”

“I don’t like it,” Pidge grouses. 

“You don’t like hanging out with your mom?” Keith deadpans.

Pidge rolls her eyes and pauses the game. “No,” she says, readjusting her glasses. “I don’t like the idea of Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid just wandering around. Now Uncle Kolivan wants to make them Blades. I don’t trust them.”

“Neither do I,” Keith says, “but I trust Kolivan’s judgement. If he thinks this is the best way to get close to Lotor and we get control of his plans for quintessence, it just may be our only option.”

“It sorta gets us closer to your dad, Pidge,” Hunk adds cautiously. “If we can get a meeting with Malax, we’d be one step closer to those druids.”

Pidge places the controller down and restlessly toes off one sock. “That’s what makes me nerv—”

“—told you that wouldn’t work. Just let it…” Allura’s voice trails off as she walks into the room, Lance close behind. 

Bae Bae sits up at the commotion, ears swiveling as he spots Allura and Lance. 

“Why is the puppy on my bed?” Lance asks, groaning aloud. “What are all of you doing in my room?”

“I blame Pidge,” Keith says. 

“You have the gaming console,” Pidge shrugs. 

Hunk waggles his eyebrows up and down, pointing with his controller to where Lance and Allura’s hands are laced together. “What were you two lovebirds up to?”

Allura shakes her head with a smile. “Stop teasing him.”

Lance’s brown cheeks are flushed as he bashfully scrunches up his nose. 

Keith rolls himself off the bed before ruffling Bae Bae on the top of his head. 

“Is puppy dog staying with us or heading down to Olkarion with your mom?” Keith asks Pidge. 

“He’s staying with us,” she replies. “Why?”

“Just double-checking,” he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair and scratching at his scalp. “I’m gonna see my mom before she disappears with yours.”

Keith leaves with a wave of his hand after the five of them promise to have a late dinner together with the others. He finds his mother and father on the bridge of the ship with Ulaz, Coran, Shiro, and Ryou. In Shiro’s hands is Ryou’s familiar prosthetic arm. Three metal prongs, tinged with blood, ooze a purple liquid and it drips onto the floor. The remaining stump of his arm still holds the attachment disk that would connect the prosthetic to the organic. 

“You’re going to need some training with this one,” Larka says as Ulaz struggles to shove something against Ryou’s body. “It will take some getting used to, but you’ll manage. Allura will have to train you properly.”

“Shit, that hurts,” Ryou hisses, yanking himself backwards and almost toppling over on Allura’s dais. 

“My apologies,” Ulaz drawls yet the corner of his lips lift. 

“What’s going on?” Keith asks, rounding the private circle. His eyes widen. In Ulaz’s hands is a new arm constructed from a transparent solid material. Shards of blue Balmera crystals emblazon the surface from fingertips to elbow. Within the remaining upper arm is a cloudy mist of pink magic, expanding and pillowing out in its transparent confines. “What the hell is that?”

“Your mom is upgrading me,” Ryou grins. He winces when the prosthetic finally catches on the attachment disk and it whirs to life. The pink mist churns and oscillates.

“Thace, run some diagnostics for me,” Ulaz says, moving aside to let Thace insert a plug into the inner elbow of the prosthetic. He attaches the other end to a datapad.

“Can you move it?” Thace asks.

The shimmering blue fingers slowly unfurl, the movement jerky and erratic. 

“It feels different,” Ryou says. 

“How different?” Shiro asks. 

“Less heavy than the Galra tech,” Ryou explains. “Feels lighter.”

“With Allura piloting the Blue Lion,” Coran begins, “I need a co-pilot. Especially in the case of an emergency.”

“Ulaz and I designed a prosthetic that will help Ryou interface with Altean technology seamlessly,” Larka explains to Keith.

“You should still get some piloting lessons from Allura,” Shiro remarks. “Get comfortable with it before you start executing evasive maneuvers.”

Keith shares a smile with Shiro. 

“Very funny, twin,” Ryou rolls his glowing eyes.

“Calibration compete,” Thace says. “Make a fist.”

Ryou narrows his eyes and focuses on his extended arm. He gradually curls his hand. 

“Any stiffness in the nerve sensors of the disk?” Ulaz asks with a raised brow.

“A bit,” Ryou admits sourly. 

“Don’t worry,” Larka says. “That’s normal. Just remember that this arm needs some recharge time. It’s not an endless battery.”

“When you feel overexerted,” Ulaz adds, “sit a battle out. No one will fault you for that.”

“I guess we’re having no more doubts about Ryou,” Keith says, cocking his head to the side. 

“You’re still on that,” Ryou grumbles, stretching out his arm as Thace disengages the cord from his inner elbow. “I’m not working for your crazy grandmother.”

“When are you two leaving?” Keith asks, ignoring Ryou’s jibe. 

“Once Colleen is done with her endless to-do list,” Larka says. “I think she wants to cook dinner for you and the paladins before we leave.”

“What about you?” Keith nods to his dad.

“Kolivan and I have to follow through with some details on Lotor and his generals at headquarters. Dorma is going with your mother and Hazar is coming with us, so…”

“Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid are going to be roaming around the Castleship,” Larka mutters. “Good luck with that, Coran.”

“No need, Princess Larka. I remember when your brother was a little kit,” Coran says happily. “How bad can three of them be?”

Larka looks at him pointedly. “As I said before, good luck. We’ll figure out what to do about their training before we transfer them to Gal.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Keith says. 

“I’ll come back for you in two quintants,” Thace says. “By that time, we should have more plans for the three of them.”

“Ilun is going to be upset when she learns she’ll be the one overseeing their training,” Ulaz laughs as he helps Ryou back into his shirt. 

“She’ll have to deal with it,” Larka says, cleaning up the floor with a wet cloth. “This is Kolivan’s choice. I’m just following his orders.” 

“Larka, I’ll help you refuel the cruiser,” Thace says, heading towards the door. 

“Thank you,” she says. “You have everything settled here, Ulaz?”

The Blade waves off her question in favor of double-checking Ryou’s diagnostics. 

Rolling her eyes, she pulls Keith in close and kisses his forehead.

“Don’t think I forgot your birthday,” she murmurs. “Shiro says you don’t want to celebrate it. Why?”

“We’re at war,” Keith groans. 

“I don’t care. I have you back. You’re in one piece. We’re celebrating it. Two quintants and we’re discussing what you’re going to do. No excuses,” Larka says airily before following her husband off the bridge. 

When the doors close, Keith turns to Shiro. “Why would you tell her that?”

“Because she’s your mom and she’s scary sometimes,” Shiro shrugs. 

“That’s true,” Ulaz and Coran say in unison. 

“If you weren’t going to agree with me, you would agree with her,” Shiro says, placing his hands on Keith’s shoulders and squeezing gently.

“Just loosen up, Prince Kythel,” Ryou says. “We were almost killed by Haggar and her warship of doom. We’ve been interrogating Lotor and his minions for days. Some rest and recuperation sounds good right about now.”

“He’s right,” Shiro agrees. “Let’s just tie up some loose ends. Celebrate your birthday. And then Hunk can go on his vacation with Shay. The war can wait a few weeks.”

“Hunk is going on a holiday?” Coran squawks. “Why didn’t he tell me? I have to put it on the chart!” 

Keith shakes his head as Coran prattles his way out of the room. “He’s really serious about those charts.”

“Dead serious,” Shiro deadpans.

“Alright, Ryou,” Ulaz says. “The more you move this arm around, the easier it will get to control the ship. You should train with Shiro and Allura daily. Don’t take on any extreme missions until you can successfully pilot the ship without the weapons active.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Ryou says. 

When Ryou and Ulaz leave with promises of meeting them for dinner, Keith finally turns to Shiro and leans his head against his shoulder. 

“You’re sure about this? You don’t have any doubts?” Keith asks.

“About Lotor’s allegiances? Ryou with an Altean tech arm? Narti and Ezor being our inside guys?” Shiro says. “Of course, I have my doubts. But I’ve got you and our friends and family. We’ll see this through like all the other times. Together.”


	17. Blue Sky

Keith swipes away the sweat dotting his hairline. He takes a hasty drink from his water bottle before placing his blade in its sheath. 

“You alright?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Lance replies, hanging a towel around his neck and letting the ends drape over his shoulders. “You?”

“Fine,” he murmurs. 

They’ve been practicing in the training room since early morning, shooting at holographic moving targets and slashing at robot units. After the Blades had left for headquarters and Olkarion, the last few rebels that were healing in sleep pods had left for their planetary encampments too. A quiet lull takes over the ship with everyone off doing their own thing like it’s just another normal day aboard the Castle of Lions. Allura had agreed to train Ryou on how to pilot the ship. Every few doboshes the ship will jerk listlessly, and an apology would be broadcast across the vessel. The only problem that breaks that normalcy is Lotor and his generals. They are strange guests that have stuck to themselves since the day before, crammed in one bedroom and only venturing out for food like scurrying creatures in the dark. 

“You look kind of pale,” Lance says, raising his eyebrows. “Well, I mean as pale as a purple alien can get.”

“I’m tired,” Keith shrugs. “We’ve been doing the simulation all morning.”

“You want to take a break?” Lance asks, sitting on one of the benches.

With a sigh, Keith collapses beside Lance, dizzy from their morning workout. He slowly buckles his weapon in its usual place around the small of his back. His stomach gurgles hungrily. 

“You want to go get something to eat?” Lance asks, stifling a laugh beneath a sweaty palm.

Keith nods. They both put away their gear and leave. 

“You know Allura and your mom had it out yesterday,” Lance says as they walk down the brightly lit corridor. “Before you had that meeting with Lotor.”

“About the throne,” Keith comments. “Yeah, don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure that out.”

“We should have taken a vote,” Lance complains.

“Well, it’s not like Lotor is going to be on the Castleship for too long,” Keith murmurs. “He’ll get transferred to Gal.”

“That’s not fair,” Lance says as they enter the kitchen. “The Blade of Marmora are a faction of the rebels. You shouldn’t have to take him. You guys are just going to be babysitting him until he does his next evil deed.”

“Kolivan wants to try this out,” Keith pauses. The kitchen is filled with the sounds of them reheating leftovers from the night before. When Lance is scraping food on to his plate and Keith fills up their glasses with juice, he continues. “I’m not sure if I even think this is the right thing.”

“Yeah, but you have trust issues with literally everyone,” Lance quips.

Keith rolls his eyes over the rim of his glass. 

“But… that’s not really why I’m worried,” Lance begins. “Lotor now knows that people want your mom on the throne and Allura supports it. He’s tried to kill her years ago when they were young. Do you think he’d do that again?”

Keith freezes. He hadn’t thought of that. Of course Lotor isn’t trustworthy and he may be paranoid, but would he fall back on his old tricks of hiring a bounty hunter or assassin to kill his sister? Keith swallows a mouthful of meat.

“You think he’d want to lose the only ally he has left?” Keith asks. 

Lance tilts his head. “You have a point.” 

Keith gets halfway through his meal before he sits back, looking down at his bowl. _Would_ Lotor kill her? What if he agreed to all of this just to get close to everyone and later stab them in the back? He grabs his spork and jams it into a cube of meat.

“Are you worried about Allura?” he asks. 

“Always. She’s trusting. Believes in people’s good parts without question. She’s not gullible, but she’s just so kind and nurturing and… I don’t want someone like Lotor talking advantage of that,” Lance nods to himself. “Sometimes I wonder what she was like when she was younger, before all of this.”

Keith’s hand tightens around his utensil. He doesn’t want Lotor to take advantage of Allura’s compassion either. The more he looks at the situation the less clear it becomes. When Lotor inevitable betrays them, would it be after he bleeds them dry of resources? Or when he takes Marmora secrets for himself? 

“What would you have done?” Keith asks. “If you were Kolivan, what would you have done?”

Lance takes a bite of his food and shrugs. “Airlock. It’s easier.”

“Be serious,” Keith remarks. “We could have kept them imprisoned. Used them for information.”

“Not aboard the Castleship,” Lance says. “I don’t want him on here anymore than I want him on Gal or Olkarion or the Balmera. I would have sent him back to Zarkon. Let him deal with his son. But now Coran is on babysitting duty until your mom picks up her little brother. Ryou has full reign of piloting this ship. Kolivan wants to add enemies to his spy roster. It seems like Lotor is the only one benefiting from this. And what are we getting out of it?” Lance takes a deep breath before sipping his juice. 

“But yeah… maybe Ryou is on our side now and someone needs to help Coran on this ship while Allura is in the field. Maybe he hasn’t betrayed us, but he was working for Lotor and before that Haggar.” Lance sounds like he’s trying to piece through his own thoughts rather than complain to Keith about the group’s recent decisions. He frowns into his plate. “I guess we could use Lotor for information, but the faster we get that stuff from him the better off we’ll be.” 

Keith is about to say something when the kitchen door slides open and Pidge walks in.

“The both of you need to come to the bridge,” she says apprehensively. “We got a message from Narti.”

Keith shares a pensive look with Lance. 

“And so it begins,” the paladin mutters.

“Just hurry,” Pidge murmurs. “Lotor and the others are already there.”

\--

“The encrypted message came in a few vargas ago,” Hunk begins, “from an unknown frequency. I double-checked the notations Keith’s mom left and it’s the same frequency from the time before.”

“It took me a while to decode it,” Pidge adds, tabbing through her screen until the message is displayed on the front glass in purple-red Galran script. “But I managed to translate it.”

“What does it say?” Shiro asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“It’s a set of coordinates and information about an unnamed soldier that may work for the druids,” Hunk explains. “Narti could only give a schedule, a rank of lieutenant, and a destination.”

“A destination to where?” Allura perches herself on the arm of Lance’s seat.

“Central Command,” Pidge replies, readjusting her eyeglasses.

“And what are the coordinates?” Coran asked. 

“A region in the Ulippa system,” Hunk says. “Apparently the lieutenant will be traveling through it within the next five vargas. If we’re going to act on this piece of intel, we should do it soon.”

“Could the lieutenant be Drak?” Ryou asks. “She was around during your imprisonment, right, Shiro? And she was on the news during the interview.”

“Could be,” Shiro answers.

“But we don’t know for sure,” Pidge adds. “All Narti mentioned was that a lieutenant would be traveling through the Ulippa system with no guards.”

“Why?” Lance pipes up.

“Why would a soldier, who is most likely working for my dad, want guards around when they’re doing some illegal activity against Zarkon’s regime?” Pidge counters. “They probably don’t trust those who could report back.”

“Whoever is heading to Central Command doesn’t want extra baggage with them,” Hunk states. 

“What else is in the Ulippa system?” Lance asks. “Besides us fighting him and his group phoebs ago.” He nods over to Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid.

“I had Throk transferred out there for a while,” Lotor drawls. “It’s one singular hub, nothing much out there.”

“It’s usually used as a transportation zone,” Acxa says. “Not heavily trafficked, but people still use it.”

“So, it’s a back road?” Pidge raises her eyebrows. “The lieutenant doesn’t want to be seen.”

“Does Narti say anything about the direction the lieutenant is coming from?” Allura asks. “Perhaps we can figure out what quadrant of space they’re leaving.”

Hunk shakes his head. “The coordinates only display a region of space that they’ll be in.”

“She must have hacked into some transportation records and grabbed the most recently cleared data,” Zethrid says. “You should take this.”

“And leave you all here,” Lance mutters under his breath.

Allura nudges him with her elbow. “Not now.”

“Did you have any undercover bases out in the Ulippa system?” Shiro asks. “Anything that the soldier would be heading to.”

“What do you mean?” Lotor asks. 

“The destination could be a cover story,” Shiro explains. “Someone could be expected to show up at Central Command and never come. Or perhaps they just pop up somewhere else, handles some quintessence business and then shows up to Central Command complaining that they were caught up in some traffic.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Lance says. “It would be easy to deal with druid stuff on their way. Haggar wouldn’t know anything about it.”

Lotor shakes his head. “No, all of _my_ bases have been destroyed or are unmanned. If Lord Solthro has his own, I don’t know about any of them.”

“He probably does have others,” Acxa says, nervously chewing on her lower lip. “If he had places on Planet Earth, he could have others that Narti doesn’t even know about.”

“You act like you don’t trust Solthro,” Keith remarks, breaking his silence. His stomach anxiously twists and knots in apprehension. “How do you work with someone and don’t trust them.”

“You’re working with us,” Acxa retorts, eyes narrowing. 

“Alright,” Shiro say, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder, “enough. I want to head out to the Ulippa system, scan the region before this lieutenant gets there.”

“What if this is a trap?” Lance asks. “What if Narti is working against us?”

“She wouldn’t jeopardize our alliance,” Zethrid growls.

“Whether or not you take this piece of intel, it will be worthwhile. You could follow or track this person. You could capture them. You could even kill them for all I care,” Lotor pauses, fists clenched by his sides. “I understand that you may not trust us. But I can tell you that if Narti is giving you this piece of knowledge, it is probably accurate. She won’t lead you astray.”

“We won’t know the answer if we don’t follow through with it,” Hunk says. “We should at least try.”

Lance huffs loudly. 

“Then it’s set,” Shiro says tersely. “We’ll leave in an hour.”

\--

The ship is quiet again after the paladins leave. Coran and Ryou stick to the bridge, keeping sharp eyes on the location of the lions. They don’t fly too close, resting at a distance from the border of the Ulippa system. The last thing they need is an outgoing transmission from the Galra stating that the Castle of Lions has been spotted.

Keith finds himself in the training deck again, parrying another strike from the robot. He dances on light feet, leaps back before swinging his blade in a wide sweep. It glances past the robot’s chassis, nicking the torso. The robot tucks, rolling away from Keith’s next slash. His belly lurches and he is forced to pause the simulation until he regains his bearings. He drops his blade, placing his hands on his knees to take rush after rush of deep breaths. It eases the queasiness, but just barely. 

“You alright?” Acxa’s voice surprises him. 

“Just taking a break. Where are the others?”

There’s a flicker of doubt in her eyes like she doesn’t believe his answer.

“Lotor is in his quarters and Zethrid has taken a liking to your kitchen,” she says. “What are you doing in here anyways?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Keith scoffs. “I’m training.”

“It looks like you’re struggling,” Acxa retorts. 

Keith brushes off her quip in favor of taking a sip of his drink. 

“When does our training start?” Acxa asks. The stifling silence is uncomfortable and overbearing. 

“Once Kolivan gets back from headquarters and you’re transferred to Gal,” Keith replies. “You’ll meet Regris and Umaala. Ilun is apparently going to be upset that she has been assigned to your training.”

“They are your Marmora squad?” 

Keith nods. “Well, Ilun isn’t. She’s been in charge of training the recruits for the past few phoebs.”

“The yellow paladin said that this was the second time you got a message from that particular frequency,” Acxa comments. “Is it possible to get in contact with Narti from your side?”

He narrows his eyes, cocking his head. “Are you interrogating me?”

“Possibly,” Acxa says. “I only ask because I’m concerned about Narti and Ezor. That’s nothing too malicious.”

“As far as our communication with Narti,” Keith admits, sighing, “it’s been one way. Maybe Pidge can rig some kind of communication link like she did with my mom back at the Deadzone.”

Acxa’s eyes widen. “You were in contact with Voltron the entire time?”

Keith shakes his head. “Only towards the end. We had managed to make contact with Pidge. It was the only way they were able to get us when the space station was attacked. 

Acxa guiltily scrunches up her nose. “I know he won’t admit it and he’d chastise me for saying this, but I believe Lotor is glad that you and your mother made it out alive.”

Keith places down his bottle of water. The bizarre part of him that’s always longed for a family wonders what it would have been like if Narti had grabbed them before they abandoned the Deadzone. If Lotor had made sure that they were with him before he left with his generals. Where would they be now? At some other base lost in the stars that would soon crumble under Zarkon’s reach? Or would the prospect of having Zarkon’s descendants be too much of an asset for Solthro to pass up? Or maybe all cosmic roads lead back to Voltron?

“I’m sure Pidge can figure something out… so we can talk directly with Narti or Ezor,” he says, brushing off Acxa’s guilt before it can fester and spread to him. He nods over to a light blue paneled wall housing the gear closet. “Grab a spare weapon. We can spar.”

Acxa raises her eyebrows. “You think that’s acceptable. I don’t think Sir Coran or the clone would enjoy that.”

“The clone has a name,” Keith says defensively. “It’s Ryou.”

“Ryou.” Acxa tests the name on her tongue. 

“And it doesn’t matter anyways,” Keith continues. “They’re busy and I need a sparring partner. Allura will be mad if I destroy another robot.”

“So why not just destroy the prisoner?” Acxa jokes sarcastically, the corner of her mouth lifting. She ventures to the closet, disappearing before returning with a curved sword. “When do we get blades like the rest of you?”

“Ilun’s probably going to handle that,” Keith says, leading Acxa out to the training room floor. “We get enough shipments of luxite now to craft them regularly, but it’s still difficult.”

“To maintain all your resources?” Acxa asks. 

“No.”

Acxa eyes his blade. “Your sword. When did you get it?”

“Mom left it with me back on Earth,” Keith says. “It’s all I had left of her. When I met Ulaz and saw that he had a blade with the same insignia, I wanted to find out more: where I came from… how I got this blade…”

“Then you found her?”

Keith nods. “When we arrived at headquarters for the first time, everyone was pretty angry that I had one of their blades. But I think Kolivan knew the entire time – even before I caught a glimpse of Mom – he knew who I was.”

“If you use your mother’s blade, what does she use?”

“She relies on her magic,” he replies. “Before the coalition managed to take Gal, she used to coop herself up in the laboratory or she helped with training recruits. It changed when she—” 

“—when she tried to kill Lotor?” Acxa interrupts. 

“Why are you asking me all these questions?” Keith narrows his eyes. “This sure seems like an interrogation.”

The general nervously shifts on her feet.

“Before Lotor was called back to Central Command to take over while Zarkon recovered from his wounds, he never really spoke about his family. Not his deceased mother or estranged father and sister. I understand why she did it… putting you into hiding. I just don’t believe that Lotor would have hurt you.”

“You do realize that once my mom had me,” Keith starts, “Lotor was nudged farther down the line of succession. I would think that was a strike against his ambitious goals.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that Zarkon doesn’t care nor depend on absolute primogeniture,” Acxa mutters. “Regardless, you and Lotor have a common enemy: Zarkon. He’s the one who would enjoy killing the both of you.”

A sudden wave of dizziness washes over Keith. He stumbles but regains his footing against the bench. Acxa’s hand steadies him.

“Are you well?” Acxa asks, her brows furrowed with worry. Her eyes widen. “Did you eat anything this morning? You look… pale.”

Keith shrugs off her hand, his stomach roiling with nausea. He takes a sharp breath through his nose, his hand batting both his blade and water bottle to the floor.

“Maybe we shouldn’t spar right now,” Acxa remarks. “Let me get you to your room.”

“I’m fine,” he says tersely. “Just give me a tick.”

“Kythel, at least sit down,” she murmurs, gently pushing him towards the bench. 

There’s only one dull thought in his head: _Did she poison me? How?_ He smells something sour, like perfume trying to cover the fragrance of grotesque rot. The smell of rancid wet hay coming from Kaltenecker’s deck aboard the Castle of Lions. The twisting in his gut and the rapid-fire thumping of his heart. Cool sweat breaks out across his forehead. His clammy hands grip Acxa’s forearm to keep steady. There’s only one time he felt this grossly ill. When he shifted, when he became more Galra than he already was. Alien and foreign within his own body. A prince without a home. 

The lighting on the training deck grows dim. Keith pushes away from Acxa. He vaguely hears her calling his name, her steady gait behind his frantic one. He feels lightheaded, his vision swimming. 

Keith makes it a few steps out the doorway before he collapses, head cracking against the white floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There won’t be a chapter next week. Chapter eighteen will come out on the eighteenth. I hope everyone has a good time watching season six!


	18. Biting Your Own Neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Season six ruined me. It was beautiful and a wild ride. I’m glad a lot of the characters got the closure they needed. I hope everyone enjoyed it!

_“The trial of Marmora requires blood spilt. If you require knowledge so be it, but there will be pain. Knowledge or death.”_ Kolivan’s words reverberate in his head. It feels like a lifetime ago when he, Shiro, and Ulaz traveled between the narrow slice of space to the Blade of Marmora headquarters. He remembers the roiling tension in his gut, apprehension palpable beneath his pride. He remembers the taste of his own blood licking across his teeth. He remembers the punch he took to his hip, the bruising and the swelling and the delicious ache afterwards when he pressed his fingers to the purpling flesh. 

This was before his skin shifted to a beautiful shade of lavender, his alien appearance emerging to the surface. This was before Antok said: _“Surrender the blade and the pain will cease.”_

Keith awakens in his dad’s farmhouse. Even with the warm summer breeze floating in from the open windows, the air still feels humid. He props himself up on his elbows, wincing at the throbbing pain in his head and the swirl of nausea. Vertigo sets in and he lurches forward. 

His vision finally settles. His stomach growls hungrily. When was the last time he ate? This morning… or maybe late last night? Keith shakes his head, hair ruffling like a dark halo. He needs to trim it or maybe borrow a hair tie from Allura. 

Keith swivels around to sit up, looking around at the familiar clean room. His dad’s computer equipment is put away, the television is dusted, and the books are carefully stacked in neat piles upon the coffee table. Pots and pans clank together in the kitchen, the sound of a glass dish on a linoleum countertop. A twangy curse comes out of Mick Kogane’s mouth. 

“Dad?” Keith asks. “You okay?”

“Yeah, son,” Mick answers, “fine.” 

From the back of the house, the storm door squeaks open and footsteps grind against the gravel outside. A waft of hickory smoke filters through the farmhouse and tickles Keith’s nose. The communicator on the coffee table beeps as a transmission comes in. Keith narrows his eyes, scrutinizing the tiny device. He sits up, hand haphazardly grabbing the silver beacon before thumbing open the display screen. His mother’s name appears in blocky Galran lettering, flashing like the time on a digital clock. 

“Keith!” His dad calls from the backyard. “I need your help.”

Keith drops the communicator back on the table, the sound making a sharp crack as he rises off the couch and heads to the kitchen. Chicken soup simmers in a large pot over the stove. Another pot rests on the back burner, steeping fresh ginger and cinnamon sticks. His stomach growls for a second time. He’s just about to dip a spoon into the soup to sip at the broth when his dad calls him again. He places the wooden spoon down on the counter, his hands fidgeting at his sides. 

“Keith!” Mick shouts from the backyard.

Keith swallows the taste of sour bile and hurries to the door. He pushes it open with a lavender hand.

“Mom called,” is the first words out of his mouth.

Mick stands over by the shed, a pile of firewood in his hands. One of the top logs is about to fall to the ground, but Keith rushes over in time and swipes it in midair before it can land on his dad’s foot. 

“Did you answer it?” Mick asks, squinting up at Keith. It’s a little past noon and the sun is a brilliant white against the pale blue sky. 

“You called me outside before I could,” Keith says, placing the single log back onto the pile in his dad’s outstretched arms. He grabs the next pile. 

“Why didn’t you answer it?” Mick rolls his eyes.

Keith wordlessly follows his dad over to the single piece of blue tarp where several other small piles of firewood sit.

“That should be enough for tonight’s firepit,” Mick says.

Keith forgets how diligently organized Mick is. Despite his free spirit, Mick Kogane likes everything neat and put away. His papa is like that, too. Thace doesn’t like dust or crumbs or too much clutter. 

Shaking his head, Keith looks down at his feet and wiggles his toes. Something doesn’t feel right. 

“Did you eat?” Mick asks, cocking his head to the side. The scar over his right eyebrow crinkles. 

“Not yet,” Keith mutters. 

“Go in,” Mick says, heading back to the shed. “I’ll finish up out here.”

“Are you sure?” 

Mick makes a noncommittal hum, like he’s trying to chuff but doesn’t have the required physiology. 

Keith kicks up dust with his naked feet as he heads back into the house. As if on autopilot, Keith grabs a bowl from the cabinet and fills it with chicken soup. Standing by the stove, he spoons some broth into his mouth. It’s warm and salty as it sluices down his parched throat, but then something makes him gag. The taste feels off, too savory and not tart enough. This isn’t what he wants. 

The front door opens. The sound of rustling grocery bags grows louder and louder before Thace walks into the kitchen with his arms full. 

“Go help your mother with the rest of the bags,” he says without much fanfare. 

Thace looks strange standing in the farmhouse, tall and long-limbed with broad shoulders, just as alien as Keith is. Two parts of his life meshing together, a clash of colors on worn canvas. The storm door swings open and Mick adds to the bizarre painting. His fathers standing around in a kitchen, putting groceries away like they’ve done it together all their lives. 

“Did she go overboard?” Keith asks, heading for the door and slipping on his sneakers. 

“She wants to feed your friends,” Thace remarks, opening the fridge as Mick passes a tray of eggs to him. “Let her do this just once.”

Keith sighs, as if the prospect of his mother meeting his friends is almost too much to handle. End of the school year barbecues aren’t something he has ever really liked. Too many people around when it should be quiet, only the crackling firepit and chirping bugs playing as a soundtrack.

He’s walking out the front door just as his mother is shutting the tailgate of the truck, three grocery bags crammed in her hands. 

“Why are you so impatient?” Keith calls out. “I’m coming to help you now.”

“You’re taking your sweet time,” Larka smiles, before letting Keith take some of the weight. “I didn’t know if Shiro likes plums or those peach fruit cups. You didn’t pick up when I called, so I bought both.”

“You bought those plums for yourself,” Keith quips. He stalls, his brain short-circuiting. _Why did I say that?_ A strange memory, cloudy around the edges. A farmer’s market in town. A rainy day wearing red galoshes. 

His mother breezes past him to enter the house, the smell of firewood wafting in his nose. He’s still staring at the ground when a hovercycle kicks up dirt before touching down to the still earth. 

“Hey, you okay?”

Keith’s brows raise as he looks up. Shiro is standing beside the bike, a backpack slung across one shoulder. 

“What?”

“You okay?” Shiro asks again, taking a few steps forward and tentatively placing a metal hand on Keith’s cheek. 

Something stirs in Keith’s belly. Uneasiness or sickness, perhaps both. 

“I-I think so,” he stutters. “Just… not feeling well… is all.”

“You want to cancel tonight?”

Keith shakes his head, his heart thumping wildly beneath his tender chest. 

“We can just stay here and watch movies,” Shiro continues. “I’ll call Hunk… tell him it’s off.” He’s already digging into his pocket for his phone.

When he reaches out for Shiro’s Galra arm to stop him, he expects warm metal but instead finds himself touching cool glass. He blinks once, eyes burning as he opens them like he’s been sleeping for quintants. The lights in the medical wing are blinding. The recycled air in the cryo-replenisher smells stale. His head feels fuzzy, his limbs heavy like they’ve atrophied overnight. 

“Coran! He’s awake!” 

Ryou is on the other side of the glass, a harsh expression on his face even though he’s been worrying his lower lip. Coran appears not a moment later, his lips pulled down in a frown and his eyes sparkling. The glass door hisses open, a plume of cryo-air dispersing. Keith stumbles as he walks out, but Coran catches him around the waist and holds on to him. Ryou’s yellow eyes are narrowed, slivered moons casting doubt across his familiar face. 

“You’re okay,” Coran says, a fatherly cadence in his voice. 

“Acxa carried you to Coran after you cracked your head on the floor,” Ryou blurts out.

Coran cuts his stern gaze over to Ryou in a nonverbal warning.

“How long was I out?” Keith croaks. 

“A few vargas,” Coran murmurs. 

“Acxa,” Keith says. “She… I think…” his hand grips Coran’s forearm to remain steady. “The others… are they back yet?”

Coran shakes his head. “No.”

“It’s dinner,” Ryou says. “Lotor and the generals are in the—”

“Ryou,” Coran says. His voice is strained. The usual lightheartedness and incessant humor are gone. “Go hail the others immediately.”

Ryou’s jaw sets, as if he wants to argue and make a sarcastic retort. Instead he turns to leave the infirmary, dragging his feet like a scolded child. 

“So… I wasn’t poisoned?” Keith asks as Coran delicately brings him over to the stairs where he can rest for a bit. He would probably collapse on the floor if Coran wasn’t there to gently slide him down. Trepidation radiates from Coran. His brows are drawn together. His styled mustache looks frazzled and messy, like his thumb and forefinger nervously toyed with it during the vargas that Keith was asleep. 

With Keith finally resting against the step, Coran leans back with a sigh. A sudden smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “Something appeared on the bio-scan.”

The abrupt shift in Coran’s mood almost makes Keith relieved, but those words do nothing but make him anxious again. If Keith had been poisoned, he doesn’t doubt that Coran and Ryou would have locked up Lotor and the generals until the paladins arrived home. Coran would have called his parents and they would have dropped everything to return to the Castleship. 

“What?” Keith asks, his clammy palms leave damp marks against the thin leggings that Coran must have dressed him in before shoving him into the sleep pod.

“Well, you’re expecting.”

Keith blinks owlishly at the Altean. His mouth falls open, head cocking to the side. “Expecting what?”

Coran gives him a peculiar look, scrutinizing him. The Altean is only ever serious when one of them is in danger or a situation calls for a cool head. Nervousness bubbles up in the pit of Keith’s belly. 

“Keith… you’re pregnant.”

The thudding in his chest begins anew, his fingers curling into the fabric of his leggings. He curses under his breath. He’s been fatigued for weeks… he’s been craving those disgusting fluuto beans that Hunk and Matt were always buying. And his period… _When was the last time he—?_

“I had cramps the other day,” he mutters aloud. “I thought…”

“Sometimes that happens,” Coran remarks softly. 

“I passed out ‘cause I was—” Keith shoots to his feet, stumbling forward.

Coran grabs him before he can fall. “The bio-scan says that the both of you are healthy, but you may need to change your diet. No more standard food goo for you.”

_…the both of you…_

“Oh my god,” Keith groans, stumbling towards the medical chamber’s center console. He leans against it. “This can’t be happening! We’re in the middle of a war!”

“Keith, calm down,” Coran says, placing a comforting hand on Keith’s shoulder. 

“My mom is going to kill me, Coran,” Keith says, banging his forehead against the console. “Holy crow… Shiro. My dad is going to kill Shiro!”

“Your parents love Shiro,” Coran corrects him, shaking his head as if Keith is overreacting. 

“Does Ryou know?” Keith asks.

The older man visibly winces. “He was in the room when we got your results.”

“Oh my god,” Keith whines, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “He can’t tell Shiro. Not now!”

“Ryou is only hailing them to see when their estimated time of arrival is,” Coran explains. “The mission is taking longer than expected. They’ve been updating us, but we’ve received nothing in the past forty-eight doboshes.”

Keith takes a deep breath, running a hand through his bedraggled hair. 

“Keith, listen,” Coran starts, rubbing his hand over his back. “You’re going to be fine.”

“And Lotor, Zethrid, Acxa… they’re going to hold this over my head forever,” Keith groans again, sagging against the console in defeat. He can already hear the mocking tone in Lotor’s aristocratic voice: _You’re just like your dam, aren’t you?_

“They don’t know,” Coran says. “I kept them out while you were in the pod.”

“What am I going to do?” Keith asks aloud. There is still so much that he doesn’t know about his people. He’s not equipped for this. He didn’t plan for this. He doesn’t know the proper protocol for the Galra or the Alteans when it comes to childrearing. _Don’t even think that far ahead, you idiot,_ he berates himself. Keith instinctively presses a hand to his belly, feeling around as if something will press back against his hand. 

“This is a blessed day for all Galran and Altean peoples, Keith. You should be proud.” Coran tugs him into a tight embrace. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we are in a war and this isn’t the time to have a child. But this – the life growing inside you – they’ll give us hope that we’ll get past this war. To a brighter future.”

Keith’s eyes widen. He doesn’t want a child being a symbol for anything. A pang of guilt hits him in the chest. 

“You think… you think when my mom found out she was pregnant… do you think she doubted it? That it was a good idea?” Keith asks, tears beginning to form in his eyes. 

Coran pulls away, hands pressed firmly to Keith’s shoulders. “You may not spend a lot of time on this Castleship these quiznaking quintants, but you aren’t unwanted. Your parents love you, just like you and Shiro will love this child. Don’t doubt that!” 

Keith scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. He doesn’t want Coran to see him cry. 

“D-do you know how far along I am?” Keith asks, the words sounding outlandish on his tongue. There’s so many things they must get done. To him, it almost feels like they’re running out of time. He needs to be searching for Mick Kogane, sabotaging Pidge’s father’s plans, and contacting Lance’s brother. That’s what they all need to be focusing on. Not this. They have enough on their plate with just Zarkon alone. 

Coran peers over at the console, reading through a chart displayed on the holo-screen. “About a phoeb and a half.”

Keith scrubs a hand through his hair. “What is that? Six or seven Earth weeks? I-I don’t even know how any of this works!”

“You’re going to have to tell your mother soon,” Coran says. “She’ll probably take you to see Tolak. He’ll give you a better exam than what I—”

The door to the infirmary slides open, Zethrid’s hulking form appearing in the doorway. “Apologies for the interruption, but the paladins are back.”

\--

The prison that once held Lotor and his generals now holds a bruised and battered soldier. 

“Well, it seems Narti did in fact give Team Voltron a gift,” Lotor grins. 

Acxa keeps throwing furtive glances at Keith, but he ignores them in favor of looking at Lieutenant Drak. She sits on the bench, her wrists still handcuffed together. There is a bruise right above the puckered scar on her face. Glowing purple blood has crusted across her lower lip. 

“I’m not talking,” Drak says. “You silly creatures can try to torture me. It won’t work. My training exceeds—”

Shiro shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. We can put you in a sleep pod. You’ll be out of the game for a while.”

A dark growl leaves her lips.

“It could be deca-phoebs until you wake up again,” Lotor murmurs, cocking his head to the side. “Are you willing to gamble on that? We could have already contacted Solthro. We could have met with him. An alliance against my father—”

Lieutenant Drak lets out a bark of laughter. “Lord Solthro won’t see you.”

“You think so?” Pidge asks, pausing in her relentless pacing. 

Keith winces. 

“You sure about that,” she continues angrily. “He might meet with me. Because as his daughter, I have a lot to say to my old man.”

The Galra soldier’s eyes widen, peering up at Pidge. Her brows rise in sudden recognition. It passes over her face quickly before she bares her teeth and sneers.

“I don’t care how much training you’ve been through to keep this information from us,” Pidge says, gritting her teeth. “I’ll do whatever I can to pry it out of your head.”

Everyone whips around to stare at Pidge in shock. It’s not that she’s threatening a prisoner, but there’s an aggressive darkness bleeding into her voice. How much anger has she been mashing down, hiding away from them all? 

“Little kitty has claws,” Zethrid jokes with a smile. She lets out a grunt when Acxa elbows her in the ribs. 

“Pidge,” Keith murmurs.

Hunk places a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs him off, backing into Lance.

“No, we need to get everything out of her,” she says. “This is the first solid lead we’ve had. I’m taking it!”

“We will,” Allura says uneasily. “Tomorrow.”

Pidge clenches her fists. Without another word she turns around, pushes past Lance, and stomps off. 

“Should one of us go after her?” Hunk asks tentatively. 

“Give her some space,” Shiro says. “It’s been a rough day.”

“Just because you may have Lady Katie as a paladin, it doesn’t mean I will eagerly handover whatever it is you need from me,” Lieutenant Drak says unexpectedly. “You have no idea what we’ve worked so hard to accomplish. Every step we’ve taken in the past deca-phoeb has been derailed by you rebels and your fruitless skirmishes. You’ve stolen the Champion, the Lions, and Emperor Zarkon’s entire living bloodline. Still you demand more.”

Keith looks over at Shiro’s profile. His strong jaw, the scar across the bridge of his nose, the tuft of white hair against the black. He stops himself from pressing his hand to his flat stomach that will soon swell. What will their child look like? Not only will they be Galran and Altean, but an Earthling as well. 

_…the life growing inside you – they’ll give us hope that we’ll get past this war. To a brighter future._

Perhaps Keith is demanding more, but he needs it. He wants it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 GAC to everyone who guessed correctly ;p


	19. Day Forty-Five

She doesn’t know how long she’s been staring at the hovering mirror. When she was a child, there were stories of ancient sages and seers who gazed into the past and future. They wrote tomes on cataclysmic events. Stories about shadows blotting out the sun and moons crumbling to ash. She had been a skeptic, that much she remembers through the haze of quintessence and time. Wasn’t that what alchemists did? Question everything. Authority. Law. The archaic witchcraft that only led to wild superstition. 

_“A healthy dose of skepticism is important to alchemists,”_ her father would say. _“Question your reality. Study the world around you. It is only a smidgen of what the universe has to offer.”_

Perhaps it was then… when her appetite for knowledge grew too much. She had been overzealous. In her haste for scientific conquest, her brother had hid things from her. Comets and lions. He knew what she was from the start, didn’t he?

The doors to her laboratory open, a sudden gust of cool air rushing into the humid chamber. 

“High Priestess,” a voice says. Loud footsteps follow, harsh boots slamming across metal. Barbarism. 

Haggar waves her hand, the mirror collapsing in on itself, pocketing away in a fold of the void. “Commander Gnov,” the druid leader says, tilting her head and swiveling around. The hem of her robes whisper across the heated flooring. She’s barefoot. Again. Wearing her boots makes her feel constrained. She’s desperate to plant her feet on a solid planet. “Why are you here?”

Commander Gnov’s hands are clasped behind her back. A look of mild disdain hovers across her face. The scowling, high-ranking soldier takes a few more steps into the room. 

“Why were you not at the last council meeting?” the Commander asks. 

Haggar sneers beneath the cowl of her robe. The disrespect is palpable and Gnov’s arrogance will be her undoing.

“You have no right to question my actions, nor my authority,” Haggar retorts, flippant. She isn’t stupid enough to think that everyone agrees with her _magical_ methods. In fact, she is sure that many don’t trust her faction within the Galra society at all. She knows that there would be people, like Gnov, who would love to see her fall. Assassination attempts are not foreign to any of the Imperial family. Even when she was still a part of his household, Emperor Zarkon’s daughter had been a target of many. Haggar’s hands tighten into fists, her long finger nails drawing blood from her palms. 

“Emperor Zarkon called several council meetings in the past few quintants,” Gnov continues. “You haven’t been to a single one. Just because you are the High Priestess does not mean that you can ignore his summons.”

“If the emperor truly wished for me to be there, he would have sent someone valuable, Commander,” Haggar says. “Not you.”

Gnov bristles, hands falling to her sides. Would she attack Haggar outright? No… she is more calculating than that. To be within Zarkon’s inner circle, she would have to be.

“Your last plan to destroy Voltron ended in failure,” Gnov remarks, smirking. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve run out of assets. Project Kuron was also a failure. The only one that had been dispatched in the field has stopped responding. It was ultimately apprehended by the traitorous princess and prince.”

Haggar grits her teeth, breathing heavy. 

“They’re working together now,” Gnov says. “You would know how disappointed our lord Emperor is if you had shown up to the council meetings.”

The High Priestess wonders if Zarkon would be unhappy if she killed Gnov. Loyalty within the council is few and far between. Many are after their own positions of power with no true care for Zarkon’s goals. What is Gnov after? A more secure position. What other position could she want that exceeded her current place on the council? She had taken Larka’s seat when the princess had begun overseeing the construction of Gal. Gnov’s reach only grew with the princess absconded with the other Galra rebels to quietly work in the dark deca-phoebs ago. Anything higher than that council seat would be… Sendak’s ranking.

_Impossible._

“Leave,” Haggar hisses suddenly. “I have more important tasks to finish besides catering to your childish whims.” Heat crackles between them, a light swirl of quintessence threading itself around Haggar’s fingers. It’s a lazy threat poised in Gnov’s direction, but Haggar doesn’t have the wherewithal to complete it. Not with the pounding migraine reverberating through her frontal lobe, breaching through the thick fog of amnesia. 

“Fear of the druids’ magic is not enough to keep all of the military in line,” she pauses, scoffing. “We are not all weak like Commander Throk.”

The soldier opens her mouth, no doubt to spit another haughty retort in Haggar’s direction, when another set of footsteps echo throughout the metal corridor. 

“High Priestess, is there a problem?” Commander Ladnok asks from the open doorway where she is flanked by two sentries. She may not be on the council, but at least she doesn’t question Haggar’s actions. 

“Please have Commander Gnov escorted out of my laboratory,” Haggar orders harshly.

“At once, High Priestess.” Ladnok nods to the sentries who make moves toward the council member.

Gnov fixes her yellow gaze on Haggar’s shrouded figure. “You would do well to remember that you are not Emperor Zarkon’s only adviser.” Like a petulant child, Gnov is escorted out of the laboratory by the two sentries. It is only after they have disappeared down the hall that Ladnok speaks. 

“Would you have me make orders to have her followed?” 

Haggar shakes her head. “I do not concern myself with the actions of peons.”

“My wife’s sire works as a judge in the military law branch,” Ladnok says. “I could have her—”

“No,” Haggar snaps. “She is right. I am not our Emperor’s only adviser and with the rebels claiming territory he will need all the help from his military commanders.”

“With Sendak back, he won’t need the council,” Ladnok remarks. “He’s brought back an abundance of information from his time with Prince Lotor. Commander Sendak will be reinstated as the leader of the military faction. It is why Gnov is so bitter.”

So, she does want that position. The girl has probably crawled and scraped her way into that council seat and now Sendak has displaced her once more. Haggar coils another gust of quintessence around her fingers, nursing on the severe pain. If Larka and Lotor had been on the council, they would have put these craven commanders in their place. They may have not been soldiers like their father, but they were diplomats.

Haggar shakes her head. She does not want these thoughts anymore, but Haggar can’t help but consider how it would be if Zarkon’s children were still here. Larka would be able to search out dissent, put a stall in the plans of soldiers like Throk and Gnov. Lotor was a manipulator, sweet words of camaraderie and justice pouring from his lips. But that time is gone. They have joined forces with Princess Allura. 

“What is the difference between you and Gnov, Commander Ladnok?” Haggar asks, tilting her head. 

“Excuse me?” Ladnok murmurs. “I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Your loyalty,” Haggar says. “What is the difference in your loyalty?”

Ladnok’s brows furrow together. “I have Zarkon’s well-being in mind and have aligned my troops with the druids. It is the way of our people for the last ten thousand years.”

“And Gnov?”

“She has little care for the druids,” Ladnok admits tensely, as if her words will hurt Haggar’s pride. 

Haggar shrugs. “Again, I do not concern myself with the actions of peons.” But it is good to know where Ladnok’s allegiance sits without digging through her mind for the answers. “Why have you come to my laboratory? I doubt it was just to save me from Gnov’s ambitions.”

A small smile plays at the corners of Ladnok’s lips, marring her usual stern countenance. “Emperor Zarkon requests the presence of both his Admiral and High Priestess.”

\--

“…answer for his crimes. Whatever it takes.” Zarkon’s voice is cold in the opulent throne room. Even with the vaulted ceilings, his voice is unwavering. 

Sendak kneels at the edge of the dais like no time has passed. He had been meeting with Zarkon in private since he had returned, divulging key information that not even Haggar had been privy to. A lick of envy snakes its way through her chest. 

“Haggar,” Zarkon greets her. 

On some residual instinct, she once more takes her place by his side and hovers at the border of his vision. 

“We were just discussing the whereabouts of Lotor,” Zarkon continues.

“…and how to get him back, High Priestess,” Sendak explains. “It is a true pity that Prince Lotor and Prince Kythel have freed your experimental weapons, as well as disabling your warship. If it wasn’t for those two, we would have the Lions again.”

“Sendak has told me that Lotor is conspiring with Larka to create various formulas of concentrated and synthetic quintessence,” Zarkon remarks darkly. “It appears that that they want to be the distributors of quintessence to not only their allies, but also the Empire. Claiming the trans-reality comet that Alfor had sought out for themselves has made them grow too reckless and arrogant. If Lotor had been loyal, he would have shared that information with us. Instead he chose to be with Larka and Allura.” 

“Your reign will not be questioned, Your Imperial Majesty,” Sendak says. 

_Synthetic quintessence?_ How in the Ancients did Larka manage that? How long had she been studying the sciences? How long had Lotor been interested in alchemy? Had their rivalry been a ploy all along? Making everyone think that they were enemies, all the while they were trying to become the supplier of quintessence. They would no longer have to suck planets dry of their resources. They could make their own pipeline. An alternative to what the Galra Empire could provide. 

“I want Larka and Lotor arrested for conspiring against the Empire,” Zarkon says dully. 

“What about a trial?” Haggar asks hesitantly. 

“A public execution will put a stop to the rebellion.”

Haggar swallows around the lump in her throat. Her children. Beheaded by Sendak’s blade. She toys with the hem of her sleeve. 

“With all due respect, my Lord, you may not be able to get both,” the enhanced soldier retorts. “However, if you appeal to Larka’s love for family, she may give Lotor to you.”

Zarkon’s fingers tap idly at the armrests of his throne. “Explain.”

“Larka loves her son,” Sendak murmurs. “If you threaten the family she has created, she’ll give you Lotor without a fight.”

“Zarkon, we do not have anything to bargain with,” Haggar says hastily, clenching her hands in her robes. 

“I don’t wish to bargain,” the emperor says coldly. “If she doesn’t hand me Lotor, I’ll kill them both. I’ll have her son watch before I cuff him to the pilot seat of the Red Lion.”

Sendak chuffs in derision, standing abruptly. “That kit can’t possibly—”

“He’s done it before,” Zarkon interrupts, “with both the Red and the Black. If I sit him in it, he’ll pilot it.” 

Sendak looks like he wants to argue, but he swallows his pride. “I will make contact with Voltron. Schedule a meeting.”

“See that you do.”

Sendak leaves, shoulders slouched in agitation. 

“He wants to pilot the Red Lion,” Haggar states. “He’s manic and impatient. You have to—” Haggar jolts when she feels Zarkon’s large hand wrap around her wrist, squeezing tightly. “My Lord?”

“I know you have your reservations, Honerva.”

Haggar’s throat runs dry. Overwhelming tears burn at the corners of her eyes. Her teeth furiously grind together in hopes that they won’t spill down her cheeks. Has this foolish man known about her since he had awoken from his coma? 

“What?”

“I will execute the children,” Zarkon continues. “You can keep the boy… our grandson. But Larka and Lotor must die. They’ve created instability and divided our forces. I have no doubt that Alfor had Larka on his side during the war. And now Lotor has kept a crucial resource from us. I cannot allow opposition.”

Haggar wants to wretch her arm away from his harsh touch, but she can’t. This is the first time in deca-phoebs that she’s felt like that young alchemist meeting a foreign, anxious emperor. She's lucidly aware of her surroundings, no longer clouded by emotions that she once kept buried for so long. 

“If it is your will,” she murmurs softly. 

“It is.”

There is a shadowy glimmer in the corner of her eye that suddenly grabs her attention. Perhaps she has grown paranoid for all these years, or maybe it was a trick of the dim light. She feels Zarkon’s calloused thumb rub a single circle across the knobby bone of her wrist, but she can’t shake the feeling that they’re being watched.

~~

A week has passed just as quickly as the last few since the Naxzela mission, but Gal has only just begun its summer season. Keith imagines that it's autumn back at the garrison, still warm and arid but there would be a crisp breeze in the early morning air.

“Move, Kythel,” Axca grunts as she maneuvers a hovering trunk through the doorway of his parents’ domicile. 

Keith rolls his eyes as she and Zethrid bulldoze their way in. 

“I can’t believe your mom and dad are letting them stay here while they’re training,” Pidge says from her seat in the kitchen. 

“Keep talking like we’re not here,” Zethrid quips.

“Your parents are gonna have to get a bigger place,” Hunk murmurs nervously.

“Yeah, you have no idea,” Keith whispers back. “I’m the one who has to crash in their room because Lotor’s taking mine.”

“We can still hear you,” Acxa calls out from the bedroom.

“How much junk does Lotor have anyways?” Pidge asks.

“Research notes he’s gathered over the deca-phoebs,” Acxa corrects. “Larka will probably sort through them later.”

“Crates full of research and experiments?” 

“It’s all we could take when we had to abandon the bases,” Zethrid comments. “I thought you’d all be happy that we’re willing to share our intel.”

“Knock knock,” Ryou says at the open doorway. “You ready to go?” 

Keith grits his teeth. Ever since he found out about his… situation, Ryou has hovered around. Part of him feels likes Coran may have put the clone up to it. 

“Just give me a tick,” Keith mutters, brushing pass Zethrid and Acxa to retrieve his holstered blade from his commandeered room. 

“Why the hell does Ryou need to escort you everywhere?” Pidge asks, eyes narrowing. 

Keith takes a deep breath but before he can make up something, Ryou opens his stupid mouth. 

“Shiro needs Keith so they can go over the interrogation notes. He mentioned something about compiling information after he met with Kolivan.”

“He wants me to take stuff pertaining to Drak and Iverson to Marmora headquarters,” Keith clarifies, buckling his weapon around his hips so it rests at the small of his back.

“Logical,” Pidge murmurs. 

“We’re still on for your birthday dinner tonight, right?” Hunk asks. 

_Unfortunately,_ Keith thinks in exasperation. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryou says, grabbing Keith’s shoulder and steering him towards the door, “we’ll see you back at the Castleship. Make sure Lotor’s girls don’t trash Mama Larka’s house.”

The door closes behind them and Ryou finally lets him go. 

“He’s acting like he didn’t just bake a cake for you a few hours ago,” Ryou murmurs gruffly.

Keith’s cheeks flush. “Hunk baked me a cake?”

Ryou pulls Keith down the sidewalk.

“I’m not waiting for a bus to take us to the Castleship’s landing pad, so we’re walking,” Ryou says with a stubborn frown on his lips. 

Keith follows at an idle pace. “You need to stop being so obvious, Ryou. Pidge is smart. You keep hovering over me and she’ll start to think something’s up.”

“You tell him yet?” Ryou asks grimly. 

“No. I haven’t told him yet.” _I haven’t told anyone,_ he wants to add. 

“Well you have to,” Ryou says. “Until then, as Shiro’s brother, I’m going to make sure you don’t faint like some damsel again.”

“You’re Shiro’s brother now?” Keith raises an eyebrow. 

“Twin brother,” Ryou smirks. 

“You’re an idiot.”

The walk to the Castleship is long, but at least the sun is beginning to set. Ryou drops Keith off at Shiro’s room before turning around and heading down to the kitchen. The Galra hybrid punches in the passcode to the bedroom. The door slides open and Keith almost walks headfirst into Shiro. 

“Oops,” Shiro says, grabbing onto Keith before he stumbles. “I was just going to go look for you. What took you so long?”

“Ryou apparently hates public transportation,” Keith grumbles, sidestepping to enter the room and throw himself down on the bed. “Lotor’s crap is in my room. Where is he now?”

“Having an argument with Allura and Lance,” Shiro says, shutting the door. “They were giving me a headache. I had to leave.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Keith smiles, but it slowly falls.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks, cocking his head. Keith turns on his side to look at Shiro. He could tell him now. Rip off the bandage and brace himself for Shiro’s reaction. 

“Ryou said you wanted to talk about Drak and Iverson.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, sitting beside him and combing a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Kolivan and I interrogated them again. I want to use as much information that Lotor and Narti can provide us before Zarkon realizes that we have him.”

“I’m sure he already does,” Keith remarks, leaning into Shiro’s touch. 

“But one thing that we know is that Zarkon is definitely not aware of Drak and who she works for,” Shiro explains. “She admitted to Kolivan that Dos Santos is a druid. He’s the instructor at the Galaxy Garrison that is in direct communication with Malax.”

“What?” Keith sits up. “Dos Santos? He’s a druid?”

Shiro nods. “Iverson was pretty upset when Drak said that he was useless and that your mom should have snatched up Dos Santos instead.”

“Dysfunction in druids’ ranks?” Keith asks. 

“At least the ones who are associated with the Galaxy Garrison,” Shiro remarks. “We might have done a number on them when we infiltrated that base to find Mrs. Holt. Drak claims they are in complete disarray.”

“Why would she admit that?” 

“Personally, I think she realizes that she’s not only outnumbered here, but that we have a person on the inside,” Shiro says.

“But we have two. Narti and Ezor.”

“Exactly.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Keith asks. “Are we going to go back to Earth and snatch up Dos Santos?”

“I don’t know about that,” Shiro admits. “Kolivan wants to schedule a coalition meeting. He told me that he wants Lotor to attend.”

“That’s going to go well,” Keith mutters sarcastically. 

“It’s worth a shot, just to introduce him,” Shiro says. “But Kolivan wants to tackle Galra infrastructure first. We’ve claimed this much territory. Destabilizing the rest and freeing those other planets should be our focus until Zarkon has no choice but to withdraw his forces. Rescue missions is something we’ll have the rebels focus on.”

“I want to be on that mission,” Keith says. 

“Which one?” Shiro furrows his brows.

“The infrastructure,” Keith says. “The Blade of Marmora will be useful for missions to transportation hubs.” His belly clenches making him pause. Maybe going on such a serious assignment won’t be so good right now. _No. I’ll stay on active duty for as long as I can._

Shiro smiles. “Alright. I’ll talk to Kolivan about it during the coalition meeting, but for now Team Voltron may go on an extended trip with some information Narti sent.”

“For how long?” Keith asks. 

“Probably a few weeks,” Shiro says. “I’m sure you and Ilun will have your hands full with Lotor and the others.”

Keith reaches out, placing a hand on Shiro’s knee. He wants to say it. Just admit it to him. _Don’t go. I have so much to tell you._

“Keith, what is—”

The sound of knuckles rapping against the door interrupts Shiro. 

“Hey, Shiro get the birthday boy washed up,” Lance says. “Dinner’s ready.”

“We’ll be right there,” Shiro calls out.

Lance makes a hum of approval before padding down the hallway. Before Shiro can restart their conversation, Keith peels himself off the bed and stands. “Let’s go.” Better to ignore the swelling anxiousness collecting in the pit of his belly for now.

\--

His parents, Mrs. Holt, and Hunk really went all out for this dinner. The table in the dining hall is filled with fruits and custards, savory meat dishes, steaming plates of colorful rice, and roasted blue vegetables shaped like broccoli. It isn’t surprising when Coran starts doling out glasses of sweetened alcohol and he skips over not only Pidge’s glass but Keith’s too. That doesn’t stop Pidge from stealing sips from Matt and Lance’s glasses when she thinks no one is looking. 

Keith almost gets misty-eyed when Hunk brings out a cake, layered with cream and fruit and pink powdered sugar. 

“Where the hell did you get ingredients for all this?” Keith grins after the paladins teach the aliens at the table the art of the Happy Birthday song.

“You act like we didn’t have desserts on Daibazaal,” Lotor drawls. “We just didn’t have goofy jingles.”

Keith rolls his eyes, not even fazed that he’s here. It doesn’t dampen the mood and it almost feels normal. But he suspects that the only reason Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid are here is so Larka and Thace can keep their eyes on them.

“But you wouldn’t know about that, would you?” Lotor continues. 

“Are you going to start antagonizing people?” Larka asks, passing a slice of cake to Colleen. “Not now, Lotor.”

“Whose fault is it though?” Lotor continues, his lavender cheeks ruddy with intoxication. “I mean, the boy could be having his birthday on Daibazaal if it wasn’t for—”

“You want to do this right now?” Allura shouts from across the table.

“Acxa, be a darling and take his glass away please,” Colleen murmurs. 

Lotor swipes the glass up before Acxa can grab it. “Of course, I’m being serious. Whose fault is it that—”

“Zarkon’s fault! It’s—”

“No! It’s Alfor who—”

“Are they really doing this?” Shiro asks, rubbing his hand against his forehead. 

“And you thought I wouldn’t be able to handle a bit of alcohol,” Pidge scoffs. 

Keith’s gaze shifts from Allura to Lotor. Before anyone can stop her, Allura grabs her glass and pelts it across the table. It misses Lotor’s face, sailing above his head and shatters on the floor behind him. The exiled prince still looks befuddled by the sudden projectile.

“Here, Allura, this is how you do it,” Pidge says, grabbing a handful of cake in her hand before throwing it at Lotor. 

"Katie!"

Keith’s mouth falls open as the piece of cake lands on Acxa’s face instead. It slowly slides down to settle on her lap. Chaos erupts. Keith isn’t sure if Zethrid is the one who throws a slab of meat at Matt or if Hunk managed to smear cake frosting across Lotor's forehead after launching himself across the table. 

His parents and Coran look aghast, while Mrs. Holt tries to pull a barking Bae Bae away from the flying food. He almost bursts out laughing at how calm Lance is sipping on his drink as Ryou continues to eat his own slice of cake. Pidge catapults a plate of rice with her spork and Shiro finally chooses to be the voice of reason. “Enough,” he says, grabbing the plate before it shatters. 

“I’m pregnant,” Keith blurts out, his voice drowned out by Allura and Lotor’s arguing and Shiro barking orders. He takes a deep breath, looking around the room. No one even noticed what he said amidst the frenzy. It’s definitely not the time to do this when half of the occupants in the dining hall are drunk, but it feels good to say it aloud.

“I’m pregnant,” he says again, a bit more firmly this time. But everyone is shouting now that Allura has Lotor in a headlock and Zethrid is trying to drunkenly remove her arms.

Keith rises to his feet and presses his hands to the table. “I’m pregnant,” he shouts, his voice almost cracking at the end.

The room freezes, everyone immediately falling silent. Shiro’s head whips around to stare at Keith with wide eyes. Lance chokes on his drink before spewing his fruity cocktail across his food. 

“I just, uh, thought you all should know,” Keith murmurs quietly.

“You’re what!?” Lance warbles. 

Allura releases Lotor from her chokehold. “Keith! That’s wonderful!”

“Holy crow!” Hunk exclaims.

“I totally knew it,” Pidge mutters with a smug smirk on her face.

He lets out a breath he’s been holding, hands nervously fidgeting against the surface of the table. He looks over to his parents and Coran, who no longer look surprised at the dinner antics but are smiling happily at him. Keith feels arms wrap around him, pulling him in. Shiro still looks like he’s still trying to piece together what he had just said, but he’s squeezing him close. One hand is pressed to the nape of his neck. There’s a smudge of frosting on Shiro’s cheek and Keith wipes it away with his thumb. 

“This is real?” Shiro murmurs against Keith’s neck. “You’re really—”

“Pregnant? Yeah. I am,” Keith remarks with a hesitant smile. “Galra biology, you know?”

“They didn’t teach that at the Garris—” Lance stutters as Ryou covers his mouth to shut him up.

“Can we do this?” Keith asks softly. “We’re at war right—”

Shiro presses his lips to Keith’s, smothering his words. Keith blushes. To be so intimate in front of their family isn’t something that he is used to, but he clutches Shiro’s shoulders to keep himself grounded. Shiro doesn’t need to say anything. Keith has his answer.


	20. Watered Down

Ilun’s training sessions are a grueling affair. It’s the first time Keith’s ever seen Lotor work up such a heavy sweat. Zethrid’s thick fur is plastered down against her forehead. She has to wear a makeshift headband with a bit of stray fabric just to keep it out of her eyes. Acxa reminds Keith of himself when he had to battle Antok, Umaala, and countless others on the training deck back at headquarters. Her lower lip is split, purple-red blood dripping down her chin. When she grimaces in pain, he sees it slicked across her teeth. There’s a grapefruit-sized bump on her forehead where Ilun struck the hilt of her blade down across Acxa’s face. While Zethrid and Lotor take long breaks after Regris slams them flat on their backs, Acxa takes her training more seriously. As if she has something to prove to Ilun. 

“Don’t overexert yourself before your Trials begin, girl,” Ilun remarks one evening. Training had run late and Ilun had decided to fight Acxa one-on-one. Keith had offered to spar with her but Ilun irritatingly grumbled, “Sit down, earthling.”

Keith had been upset. At first, he had thought it was his pregnancy. Did Ilun think that he was out of commission? Weeks had passed since he had finally told everyone, but he wasn’t that far along. And he wasn’t fragile glass either! But he quickly realized that Ilun only wanted to test who was better at close combat or ranged attacks. She had a knack for guessing what the blades would transfigure to when an agent finally managed to activate them. Usually the weapon had something to do with a Blades’ fighting style. However, it would be a while until Kolivan gave Lotor, Zethrid, and Acxa luxite blades of their own. For now, they’d stick to standard swords that were supplied to the academies on Gal.

So… during their Marmora training, Keith would be benched. He would quietly watch as Ilun tested their skills, agility, and defensive maneuvering. He would always train earlier with Umaala and Regris before Ilun headed to the gymnasium and called his team in to assist her. Although the free time with his Marmora team was refreshing, upon finding out about Keith’s pregnancy Kolivan had cut down on his interstellar missions. Instead, their leader kept Keith and his team within their current quadrant. Mostly it was for check-ins to outposts but nothing too strenuous like rescue or espionage assignments. 

It irked him.

The day after his birthday, his mother had taken him to see Tolak. His parents had been supportive, but they had made it perfectly clear that he would be taken out of field missions in a few phoebs for the remainder of his pregnancy. And it was all because of Tolak’s diagnosis. 

“I will be considering this a high-risk pregnancy,” Tolak had explained. “Not because of your gender of course, but your excessive exhaustion could lead to something… worse if we aren’t too careful. I had originally considered that this may be gestational hypertension; but to clarify, you’re only exhausted. You need to change your diet and for the love of the holy Ancients take your supplements, Kythel.”

The medic didn’t say the word, but Keith knew he meant miscarriage.

 _It irked him._ He had finally grown used to the idea of being pregnant, but now the final layer of this chaotic cake was something that made him fearful. Even his mother had looked nervous. Despite this, Larka had been scheduled to leave Gal soon after. The science project on Olkarion needed her help. 

“I can come with you,” Keith says in a rush. They gather around the table for dinner. Keith is sandwiched in between Thace and Axca. Again. _We definitely need a bigger place, _he thinks for the umpteenth time. “Please! I’m getting stir-crazy here.”__

__“If he’s going, I want to go too,” Lotor drawls from across the table. “I should see the mediocre achievements that you’re pursuing with those Olkari.”_ _

__Larka looks less than impressed. “I went through your notes. The mediocrity seems to be contagious,” she quips._ _

__Thace shakes his head in derision before shoving a sporkful of hearty brundberry roots in his mouth. Only the sound of cutlery scraping against plates fills the room as the table falls silent once more. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith sees his father affectionately pinch his mother’s side, prompting her to speak._ _

__“I suppose you all can come,” Larka says tensely. “There should be something for you all to do.”_ _

__“Please tell me there’s something I can blow up?” Zethrid asks._ _

__“We’re testing a new cannon,” Larka replies. “I can’t guarantee that you can pull the trigger, but you can be there when it’s fired.”_ _

__“Good enough,” Zethrid smiles, pumping her fist._ _

____

~~

_It’s better than I expected,_ Lotor thinks as the shuttle lands. He peers out the port side window. Olkarion is a strange world. Mountainous and covered in forests. Much of the planet is uninhabited and the sun is perpetually setting. But these people are advanced, mixing technology in with an amalgamation of elemental nature magic not unlike alchemy and the druidic sciences.

Larka’s husband stayed behind on Gal to oversee a mission for their leader, leaving Lotor and the others to follow her out of the ship and through the pathways of Olkarion. Past darkened pyramids and monolithic square buildings of black glass and brown wood. There’s a market district, selling food and equipment for the coalition. Another district houses refugees similar to Gal and the other colonies that Team Voltron has freed. This one seems smaller than Gal, housing the families of alien scientists working in the laboratories of Olkarion.

“Why didn’t you move here?” Lotor asks his sister. 

She ignores his question, smiling at a vendor who waves to her and Kythel. Her gaze shifts back to him. “Stay close.”

Lotor narrows his eyes. Zethrid shrugs from behind him while Acxa does indeed stay close, almost hovering by the younger man’s side. He’s noticed a shift in Acxa’s demeanor. It’s subtle, but he’s known her long enough to see when something is bothering her. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that Larka’s son is pregnant or that she’s uneasy in this new time in their lives. Lotor wants to talk to her about it. He wants to claim that she is only being clingy. But he is struck with an overwhelming irregularity; he realizes… she almost belongs among these Blades. Around Kythel and Larka and Thace. She’s even taken to Ilun’s fighting style. 

Before the paladins had left for their next mission that Narti had graciously given to them, Acxa had even started hovering around Shiro. Perhaps intrigued by his time in the arena after being labeled the Champion of the Galra Empire. She asked questions, curious about the humans and the hybrid Altean. _What is Earth like? How did you get to Arus? Where did you find the Blue Lion?_ For a brief moment, Lotor thought that perhaps she was interrogating them and she would return to his side to divulge the information. Yet her questions were genuine and the only time she returned to him was to avidly retell each tale. 

Zethrid is the complete opposite. While Acxa has grown more comfortable with this new family, Zethrid is almost withdrawn. She’s still the brash warrior he met deca-phoebs ago, but it’s like a part of her has slipped through his fingers. He knows she misses Ezor terribly. Lotor reassures himself that this allegiance will not last forever and one day they can return to what they were before. 

Hopefully. 

Lotor stalls in his steps, eyes widening as his gaze runs down the length of the large tower before him. A slim structure with two prongs at the very top. The cannon? The building hums lowly as if powered by energy deep in the center of the planet. He can’t see it with his naked eye, but he’s sure it is vibrating. 

“I said stay close.”

Lotor’s eyes snap towards Larka. Kythel has led Zethrid and Acxa in the direction of the tower, but Larka has started down a different path. Her golden yellow eyes remain serious and glint at him sharply. His long fingers curl, pressing into his palms. Her sour expression reminds him of Zarkon. Disappointed. Disapproval. Mild annoyance. 

“Come with me,” she says, turning around and heading down the sidewalk towards one of the pyramids. “I have to pick up some samples of quintessence. I want you to go over them with me when we return to Gal. See if they match up with Mother’s notes.”

“Finally need me, do you?” He starts after her, smirking.

She ignores his question in favor of changing the subject. “I’ve been training Allura and Pidge. As I ex—”

“The green paladin?” 

Larka nods tightly. “Yes. They’re excelling as I expected, but it will be good to test you as well. See where your aptitude rests. They’ll do good with another opponent to fight against.”

“Do you train others?” He asks, not expecting an answer. “Do you train Blades to become druids?”

“Yes,” she answers, surprisingly. “When we were infiltrating the Empire before, I had placed some Blades in as Haggar’s druids. It didn’t work out too well.”

“Were they found out?” 

She nods again. 

“So… Father has known about the Blade of Marmora for a while then?”

“I don’t think he had a name for us until recently,” Larka says. “But I’m sure he knew. He’s astute enough.”

They fall back into a steady silence as they take a lift to the thirty-sixth floor. The doors of the laboratory are sliding open when he asks: “What about the gate I built?”

“You mean the gate slaves built?”

Lotor grits his teeth but says nothing. 

“We’ll deal with that later,” Larka murmurs, heading over to a worktable where various flasks sit. “I have more pressing matters to attend to, as do you. Training for instance.”

“I’m trying to—”

“What you’re trying to do is prove me wrong, correct? Kolivan believes that you and your generals can make a difference here. Frankly, I don’t know what he’s thinking. But if this is what he wants us to do, then I’m with him. That’s what you’re severely lacking.”

“What’s that?” He lifts a thin, white eyebrow.

“Trust.” 

Lotor reels back as if she struck him with the back of her hand. He doesn’t know why he has such a visceral reaction to what she said, but his stomach roils with restlessness. His cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger. 

“Where did you find them?” Larka asks, facing away from him as she taps open a holo-screen against the pyramid’s angled window. “Your generals?”

Lotor scrutinizes the back of his sister’s head, the tangled braid that rests down the center of her back, the stray hairs that fall to her shoulders. The graying whiteness at the roots of her violet hair. Her skin is still smooth and unwrinkled, but her eyes show her age. A strained weariness from fighting with him. 

“Some of them – like Zethid and Narti – have been with me since I went into self-exile. Perhaps a few phoebs after I had left Central Command,” Lotor says, thinking back to when he had had enough of their father’s tyranny and exploits. When he was tired of fighting with Larka and arguing with Haggar. “I met Ezor on her mother’s home planet. Before Zarkon conquered it and the people were sent scattered by the wind, kicked up by his warships.”

One of Larka’s hands clench against the edge of the worktable. She knows firsthand what their father’s forces have been able to accomplish. Laying waste to civilizations across the universe. Their people were monsters to so many.

“And Acxa?” she asks. 

“I found her on some desert wasteland when she was just on the cusp of adulthood. She said she had been separated from her Galran mother during an expansion expedition on the outer rim of Imperial territory,” Lotor remarks. “She was enslaved for being a half-breed. I freed her… made her my lieutenant and she’s been with me ever since.” 

Larka hums knowingly.

“What is it?” Lotor chuffs. 

“You seem to attract _half-breeds_ , don’t you?” Larka spits the word out like it’s a curse. It is… especially for people like them. 

“You’re crueler than I remember,” Lotor retorts angrily.

“Only to you,” she quips. 

The console makes a series of beeping noises as she idly taps at the screen. She sighs in relief, as if she’s finally found something that she had been searching for. She tabs down the holo-screen before retrieving several flasks from the cabinet below and she begins the arduous task of filling each one with a bubbling green liquid. 

“What do I have to do to regain your trust?” Lotor asks, the words falling from his mouth uncontrollably. 

Larka’s hands shake for a tick before she steadies them and continues dealing with the volatile, experimental quintessence. “I don’t know if that’s possible. You tried to kill me a long time ago for a throne I never wanted,” she pauses, refilling the second and third flasks. “But most importantly, you almost got my son killed because you attracted too much attention from Father. You aligned yourself with druids that have been tracking my family, coercing them into acquiescence. What reason is there left to trust you?” 

“I’m your family!” Lotor shouts angrily. 

Larka stiffens, hands clenching around the glass bottles. “Since when?”

Lotor chokes on his snarl. He strides up towards her, grabbing one of the flasks and nearly shattering it against the worktable as he sets it down. “When our parents were dead, who was by your side? When Father was resurrected and began his plan to eradicate all Alteans, who poured his energy and lifeblood into finding our mother’s hidden research? The same research that you could take with you when you left Gal to start your synthetic quintessence crusade!”

“Don’t pretend it was for my sake,” Larka sneers. “You built a gate to use the rift that killed our mother. It corrupted her, consumed her, and you would seek that same fate!”

“I’m trying to save our people! Why can’t you see that?”

Larka’s chin quivers. “Because every time I look at you, all I see is Mother. I refuse to become like her, to be Haggar. But you thirst for it. You demand that that knowledge be yours, when none of us have a right to it.”

For the second time that day, Lotor reels back as if hit. He wants to throw something back at her: chastise her and criticize her actions. But all he really wants is to cry like a little boy kept in the dark as his family withers away. An awkward silence fills the laboratory chamber. It’s the first time they’ve been alone together in a long time. From his interrogation to Kythel’s birthday celebration, Larka and he have always been among the others. 

“Some part of you must still trust me,” Lotor murmurs, “if you’re willing to be alone with me.”

Larka’s expression softens, as if she wants to make some soothing remark. Instead she chuffs condescendingly, “I’m almost wounded that you think I can’t best you in a fight.”

And with that, the awkwardness breaks. The smiles crack hesitantly across their faces and there is timid laughter, but it’s almost like it used to be. Larka’s stoicism can only go so far. She’s far more nurturing than he remembers their mother ever being. She’s the one who took care of him, overly protective when Honerva had been in one of her foul moods. 

_I’m grateful, even though you like to play the martyr,_ he thinks bitterly. 

“There must be something else you’re after,” Larka says. “Why are you so focused in quintessence distribution?”

“What do you mean?” Lotor lifts an eyebrow.

“Mother,” she mutters. “Is it to save mother? Do you think you can reverse engineer the quintessence reaction… to make her herself again?”

Lotor shifts uneasily on his feet, staring down at the flask in his hand. “It wasn’t my intention to focus my projects on her. She made her choices, as much as I wish she hadn’t. She left her children behind for her own personal gain. You and I are nothing like our parents, Larka. This is about making sure our people have a future. Your son, his kit, Allura, the paladins, the Alteans and Galra. This is all for us. We’re better than Emperor Zarkon and his witch. We can bring our people into a new age. We just need to leave the past behind.”

Something flickers across her face. Agreement. Apprehension. Acknowledgement. A series of fluttering emotions. Guilt radiates in his chest. What started off as him trying to manipulate his sister has only devolved into him passionately begging her. His goals are something they can both strive towards. While she and Allura play the diplomats, he can focus on more concrete aspirations: making the Empire the strongest it has ever been. 

Lotor starts when he feels Larka’s palm on his face, her thumb gingerly caressing his cheekbone. _Motherhood has changed her,_ he realizes. 

“You’re still such a boy in so many ways, little brother,” she remarks, tucking a strand of white hair behind his pointed ear. Her words don’t even sound like their usual condescension, but rather endearing. She chuffs, finally dropping her hand as if scalded. “Help me with these bottles. We have to meet with the other scientists if you’re going to work with us.”

Lotor doesn’t remember the last time he gave such a sincere smile to anyone, but he’s glad that he and Larka are beginning to grow comfortable around each other. It’s been such a long time.

~~

Ozar’s team arrives late that evening. He arrives at the cannon tower flanked by two other rebels in uniform. Keith’s shocked when Ozar greets Ryner with an affectionate smile and a kiss to the back of her hand. It seems many people are still forming relationships. Life really does carry on even in the midst of an ongoing ten-thousand-year-old war.

“It’s good to see you again, Prince Kythel,” Ozar says, slapping a large hand on Keith’s back. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Zethrid fidgeting with some device before his mother grabs it out of her hand and gives it to Dorma. Before he can realize, Ozar is pulling him towards one of the empty worktables. “Let’s catch up.”

He definitely knows where this conversation is going, but he appreciates the bluntness. 

“Have you discussed _you know what_ with _you know who_?” Ozar’s hat rests lopsided on his head. There’s a new and recently healed scar across his face, but for the most part he looks healthy. 

“If you’re talking about Mom and her election nomination,” Keith begins sarcastically, “yeah, I think it’s common knowledge now that my dad and Allura blindsided her. Allura has been arguing with her about it ever since Lotor arrived. She kind of has her hands full with him.”

Ozar tilts his head, eyeing Lotor out of the corner of his vision. The exiled prince stands in between Larka and Acxa, helping with some calculations on one of the screens. Or maybe their running diagnostics before the plasma cannon testing. 

“Yes, I see that she’s taken responsibility for your uncle,” Ozar comments tersely. “I’ve never met the boy, but I’m sure your grandfather has issue with both your mother and Lotor now. Zarkon has formidable enemies. Team Voltron, the rebels, the Blade of Marmora, Lotor, and now these rogue druids. He’s running out of allies.”

“He’s not going to go down without a fight, especially now that Lotor is siding with Allura and Mom,” Keith adds. 

“There is no doubt about that,” Ozar says, placing his hands on his knees and leaning forward in his seat. “Just keep an eye on Lotor, Kythel. This is a last gambit in placing an actual benevolent and uncorrupted leader on the Galran throne. If Lotor gets it into his head that he wants to be Emperor at the expense of his sister, he might try to kill her for it.”

Keith squirms in his seat, gaze shifting over to where Larka and Lotor seem to be diligently working together. 

“I don’t think Lotor really wants to lead the Empire,” Keith murmurs under his breath. “If he wanted the throne, it would be for personal gain. It would depend on what he could get out of being in such a high position that ultimately helps with his experiments.”

“That’s what I’m concerned about,” Ozar frowns. “He seems ambitious. Especially if he’s lived this long under the strangling yoke of his father. People do terrible things in times of desperation. Make sure he is truly an ally of the coalition.”

Keith’s palms grow clammy. He’s worked too hard to get where he is today. Going into space, finding Shiro and his parents, piloting robot lions, training as a revolutionary… no one is going to stand in his way of protecting his universe. Not even a blood relative like Lotor. Yet people can change. His time in space has shown him that important lesson. 

“Ryou was our enemy once,” Keith murmurs. “I-I trust him. Coran trusts him. People can—”

“Ryou is Shiro’s clone,” Ozar says softly. “Deep down in his coding is Takashi Shirogane’s essence and disposition. His quintessence is a corrupted version of the black paladin’s, but it is the black paladin’s nonetheless. He will always be loyal to Team Voltron and that is what Haggar and the druids did not anticipate.”

Not only could Ryou break his druid-established coding, but the Blades were able to slip into his mind and wipe him clean of Haggar’s magic. Keith knows this and so does everyone else. 

“What are you saying?” Keith asks. 

“Zarkon and Haggar’s influence is growing weaker and weaker by the quintant. There was infighting when Lotor had taken the position of Emperor Pro Tem,” the older man explains, “but that amount has probably doubled even with Zarkon as emperor once more. He depends on Haggar’s cruel experiments. From her robeasts to her Champion and clones to her explosive planets; they’ve all failed in recent deca-phoebs. That is because of Team Voltron and their allies. True friendships. Do not allow Lotor to spoil that influence.”

Keith jolts in his seat at the vibration in his wrist device. 

“I’m sorry, but I have to answer this,” Keith says, scrabbling up from his seat.

“Of course, Prince Kythel,” Ozar nods in understanding. Keith nods back before racing from the room. 

When he’s in the corridor, Keith leans against the wall and tabs open his wrist device to answer the call. Pidge’s face crackles across the holo-screen, solar interference causing the picture to pixelate before smoothing out. 

“Holy crow!” Pidge shouts in exasperation. “I’ve been calling my mom and Larka for the past varga.”

“Sorry,” Keith winces. “They’ve been handling volatile quintessence. Both hands needed.”

Pidge rolls her eyes, before readjusting her glasses. “We’re on our way back to the Castleship, but I got this message. It’s not from Narti’s frequency but it is encrypted. Can you get your mom to decipher it?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Keith replies.

“Thanks, space cowboy,” Pidge smiles. “Give that baby bump a rub from Auntie Pidge.” She winks before signing off. 

“You are taking this way too well,” Keith mutters under his breath. _I’m not even showing yet,_ he thinks as a slow smile climbs up his face.

“That looks kind of creepy,” Acxa says from the doorway.

Keith’s head snaps in her direction. “W-what?”

“That smile,” Acxa says. “Quit it.”

He rolls his eyes. “What do you want?”

“We’re about to test the cannon,” she says. “Who were you talking to?”

“Pidge called,” he replies. “Voltron got a message from an unknown frequency. She wants Mom to decrypt it.”

Acxa nods and turns around. “Well, that can wait,” she mutters flippantly. “Unfortunately, Zethrid cannot. She wants to push the button.”


	21. Harbinger

That evening — with the sun still a bright orange disk in the sky — Keith and his family stay at a boarding house in the refugee district. But beneath the laughter coming down the corridors is a sense of restlessness. Ozar’s words weigh heavily on Keith. Trust was always a difficult barrier for him to approach and overcome. Learning to depend on people after his dad’s disappearance and his subsequent stint going from one foster home to another, it just wasn’t something that came easy to him. So knowing that he shouldn’t trust Lotor was as simple as tying his shoes and brushing his teeth. 

_These are different circumstances now,_ Keith thinks, pressing a lavender hand to his seemingly flat stomach. _Things have changed and so have I._

A small part of him thought that he could have trusted Lotor while he was at the Deadzone. But when Zarkon managed to track him down, Lotor had tucked his tail between his legs and ran. From all Keith had gathered from his time around the exiled prince, it just seemed very out of character. Lotor was calculating and callous, but he wouldn’t have backed down from a challenge. 

“It’s self-preservation,” Keith murmurs around a mouthful of fluuto beans in an attempt to curb his cravings. He grabs the remote to the holo-screen and changes the channel to a news program broadcasting out of a small studio down in the southern district. 

Olkarion is still rebuilding after the Galra occupation, with many being a bit tepid when it comes to joining the coalition. Keith isn’t surprised that it would take some people a longer time to warm up to new alliances. He had been one of them.

He dimly watches the glowing screen as the hosts talk about the war efforts for a few doboshes before discussing some new cosmetic product from two quadrants away. The cushioned seat beside him sinks down and slender fingers grab his empty bowl of snacks.

“You ate them all?” Acxa asks, a lilted whine in her voice. 

“I’m pregnant,” Keith replies. “I get first dibs.” 

Acxa rolls her eyes before stealing the remote. 

“I thought you went to bed,” Keith continues. 

“Zethrid is knocked out after today’s mountain explosion,” Acxa says. “She’s snoring. Loudly.”

The cannon testing experiment had been a success. And Zethrid even got the chance to press the shiny red button, with Ryner’s blessing. The plasma ray, powered by the planet’s quintessence energy, had struck the side of a faraway mountain chain. The base of the mountain — uninhabited by the Olkari — had been evacuated of all wildlife the quintant before in preparation of the resulting avalanche. 

But the scientists of the coalition didn’t celebrate their successful endeavor. (Alright maybe Dorma, Colleen, and Larka did take shots of a bottle of liquor Ryner had kept hidden in the back of a storage closet.) The team got right back to work, analyzing the various formulas of quintessence they had gathered over the last deca-phoeb. With Lotor’s help they even managed to piece together the puzzle of his supply line. 

“Where’s Lotor?” Keith asks. 

“In the shower,” Acxa says, flipping through channels before settling on some late night cartoon. “When are we heading back to Gal?” 

Keith narrows his eyes, shrugging. “Not sure. Whenever my mom’s done with her work here.”

“Don’t you have a coalition meeting that’s scheduled?”

“Kolivan’s dealing with that. Once we get back to Gal, you’re back to Ilun’s training schedule,” Keith explains. He bites his lower lip. “You’re doing really well.”

Acxa’s thumb smashes down on the remote to change the channel again. “Thanks,” she murmurs crisply. 

Keith takes a deep breath. He and Acxa had been getting along, but he was sure she was still devoted to Lotor. Yet he can’t help his next question. “Why did you come to my mom?”

Again her thumb mashes against one of the soft, worn buttons. “Can we not do interrogations right now?” 

“Sure,” Keith says. “We’ll just sit together in awkward silence.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t last too long. The front door opens and his mother barrels in, dropping her bag on the floor. Bae Bae walks in behind her, prancing over to greet Keith and Acxa with puppy kisses to their open palms. Larka is silent, rummaging in the small galley kitchen for a canister of water. Keith turns to watch his mom. Her brows are furrowed. There is a frown on her lips and her cheeks are flushed as if she ran here. Or maybe she’s angry?

“Hey, Mom,” Keith greets. 

Larka places down the canister and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. “Hello, sweet ones.” 

Acxa's blue-purple cheeks flush a deep navy and Keith chokes on a laugh at the endearment tossed her way. 

“Where’s Mrs. Holt?” Keith asks, just as Larka begins filling Bae Bae’s bowls with food and water. 

“She stayed behind with Ulaz and Ryner,” Larka remarks. “They wanted to finish up some things on the cannon. Where’s Zethrid and Lotor?”

“Zethrid is sleeping,” Acxa murmurs, “and Lotor is in the shower.” 

Larka grits her teeth.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks, already wary about his mother’s sudden change in disposition. “What happened?”

“I deciphered that message Pidge received,” Larka says. She turns her back to them to rummage in her bag for her datapad. 

“And?” Keith prompts. 

Larka is silent as she joins them on the sofa. She props the tablet up with its embedded stand and turns it on. She cycles through a few messages before selecting the one from Pidge’s transponder. 

Keith’s eyes widen at the face that greets him. 

“Sendak,” Keith and Acxa say in unison. 

“Greetings, Voltron,” Sendak begins, his voice a deep growl so unsettling that it makes Keith’s skin crawl. “I only wish I could give this message to you in person. The fugitive known as Lotor has been discovered to be in your custody. An order for his arrest has been made by the Galra Empire for conspiring against the reigning emperor and aiding the terrorist organization known as the Blade of Marmora. Because of His Imperial Majesty’s fairness, we will be willing to retrieve Lotor — an exchange of sorts — within the Si-vim quadrant. I happily await your answer.”

A slow smirk coils up Sendak’s grizzled face. “And to you, Princess Larka, I speak directly. If you value the lives of your compatriots, and your husband and son, handover your brother,” he says, the smirk dropping from his face. “How long until he betrays you next? _Vrepit sa._ ” 

Keith’s tenses as the recording finishes and Larka tabs down the screen. 

“I see that idiotic brute is still licking Zarkon’s boots,” Lotor drawls from behind them.

Keith turns to see Lotor. A towel slung low around his hips, his long wet white hair coiled atop his head. Faded scars from battles gone wrong litter his torso and chest. 

“When did you get this, Larka?” 

“Pidge sent it to us earlier,” she says. “I just managed to decipher it. I hurried back here after, but the time stamp says that Sendak recorded this a few quintants ago.”

“The green paladin just retrieved it?” Lotor asks, raising a thin eyebrow. 

“Sendak has probably been pinging this through random outbound communication chains until he reached Team Voltron,” Larka explains. 

“Which means they were hoping as many people would see it as possible,” Acxa adds.

“So if we don’t hand Lotor back to Zarkon, it will look like—” Keith starts. 

“It doesn’t matter what it would look like,” Larka interrupts. 

Everyone turns to her with surprise written across their faces. 

“If we start meeting his demands now,” Larka clarifies, “he’ll continue to make them. Today it could be Lotor, tomorrow the Black Lion.”

“So, what are we going to do?” Keith asks. 

“We prepare for retaliation,” Larka stands. “I sent a copy of the video back to Pidge. I’m sure once they get back to the Castleship, they’ll meet us here. We can move forward then. Right now, I’m going to take a shower.”

“I didn’t leave any hot water,” Lotor quips as she heads towards the bathroom. 

“Of course you didn’t,” she sighs before shutting the door.

\--

Keith awakens a few vargas later to a warm hand pressed against his belly. He smells the woodsy fragrance of Shiro’s cologne and feels the scrape of his stubble against his shoulder. The hand snakes up, thumbs briefly over a sensitive nipple before dipping back to his stomach and rubs soothing circles against the soft expanse of skin. 

“Please tell me there’s no one in here,” Keith murmurs softly. 

“Everyone’s out in the living room,” Shiro says, his words muffled by Keith’s messy hair. He still hasn’t trimmed it. Shiro grabs at the elastic band and pulls the short ponytail free. Purple-black strands fall between Shiro’s fingers. He threads them through it, tugging gently. 

“When did you get here?” Keith asks, kicking down the blankets of his futon so he can press his naked feet against Shiro’s pants. 

“Just now,” he remarks.

Keith hums, turning around to face him. He presses his lips to Shiro’s dry ones, tongue playfully flicking out to lick at Shiro’s lower lip. 

“You’re so gross,” Shiro smiles before leaning in to deepen the kiss. It’s soft and hazy, a pocket of time slowed down. All Keith wants to do is enjoy this moment in the dim light of the shared bedroom. Shiro’s skin is still damp, as if he had showered after the mission and had quickly thrown on his clothing in a rush. The white tuft of hair is slicked back from his forehead and Keith snakes a hand up to tug at the locks. 

The black paladin pulls away, briefly nosing at Keith’s cheek. His lips glisten with spit.

“How do you feel?” Shiro asks. 

Keith shrugs, tucking his face against Shiro’s neck. “Dad got me some tea. It’s helped with my nausea, but…”

“But?” Shiro prompts. 

“I just feel sensitive all over,” Keith says, “and I’m always tired.” 

Shiro curls his hand against the shell of Keith’s pointed ear. “You’ll be fine. Your body’s probably still getting accustomed to these changes.”

Keith pulls back. “It’s not my body. It’s reacting fine, like it knows what it’s doing. It is _me_ that’s the problem. I’m not saying I wish this hadn’t happened… because the idea of being pregnant and having this kid with you has grown on me. I want this. It’s just that—”

Shiro presses his lips against Keith’s once more, cutting off the Blade’s tirade. 

“I thought your mom told you to relax?” Shiro asks after withdrawing.

Keith chuffs. “I am relaxed.”

“You’re overthinking this,” Shiro say, shifting to rest on his back. “No one is asking for you to give up fighting. No one expects you to do that. But you do need to take it easy. The doctor says this is a high-risk pregnancy. I just want the both of you to be healthy.”

Keith’s cheeks flush. “Fine,” he says, trying to keep the grin off his face. “I’ll relax.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says, wrapping his Galra arm around Keith to pull him closer. 

“Did you hear about Sendak?” Keith asks, breaking the momentary silence. 

“When we got back to the Castleship, we watched it,” Shiro replies, jerking his thumb towards the heavy curtain draped over the doorway. “I think they’re watching it again. Allura’s upset.”

“Why?” 

“The intel Narti gave us…”

Keith sits up at that, worry wrinkling his forehead. “What happened? Was it bad intel?”

“No,” Shiro says, sitting up alongside him. “No, nothing like that… it’s not that it was bad intel. Just not enough.”

Keith’s eyebrows furrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Some things have changed out there,” he says. “We… we had a bit of an altercation with Zarkon.” 

“What?!” He nearly screeches. “Are you all okay?”

“Everyone is fine, Keith,” Shiro says, tiredness edging his voice. “It was just unexpected. It also looks like the Galra have retaken areas that were previously under Lotor’s control. Science bases. Prison camps. Terraformed outposts. Transportation hubs. Everything Zarkon assigned to him during his self-imposed exile has been retaken. Some of the intel Narti provided to us stated that there were commanders from the outer reaches of the Empire that were heading to Central Command and Lotor’s old stomping grounds, to petition for control. Zarkon seems to be greeting them by the ship loads. Everyone’s desperate for more territory.”

“They’re trying to cement their control,” Keith sighs. “We should have thought of this.”

“I’m sure Lotor has been thinking it,” Shiro murmurs. “Without him there, we can expect a resurgence of Sendak wannabes flooding the quadrants we’ve taken back. They have something to prove to Zarkon.”

“You think they could attack Olkarion or Gal?” Keith inquires.

Shiro nods. “Yes. That’s why we need those shields.”

“The encapsulation shields?” Keith murmurs. It was an ongoing project, along with cannon tower. Slav was supposed to provide the installation for each coalition settlement. “With the plasma cannon complete, we should be able to start the installation process for them.”

“Good,” Shiro says, lips pressed into a firm line. “We have no idea if they’ll strike us and where. We need to be prepared for anything.” 

\--

“We shouldn’t do it” Allura says, shocking everyone in the room. “I agree with Larka. We give Lotor to Zarkon and it won’t stop there.”

Everyone has piled onto the bridge of the Castleship. Thace and Kolivan's faces are displayed on the holo-screen, expressions stern and knowing. 

“You don’t think I should have a say in this?” Lotor asks, cocking his head to the side.

“You want to go back to your crazy dad?” Lance deadpans. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“Of course not,” Lotor replies. “Zarkon is not trustworthy. This could even be a ploy to capture all who attend that _exchange_. He’s not offering you anything, but he has no doubt that certain members of Voltron will be there. It would be an offering to him and his witch.”

“As much as it pains me to say this,” Kolivan begins, “I agree with all of you. It would be overzealous to think that Zarkon would honor any sort of agreement. It also makes me wonder why Sendak wanted to send that message to the entire surrounding quadrants. It’s almost as if he is anticipating our negative answer and hopes to drum up people willing to kidnap Lotor and deliver him to Zarkon themselves. We can’t allow that. Not when we’re allies now.”

Keith sinks down in Pidge’s pilot seat, nodding in agreement. 

“I’m scheduling a coalition meeting for tomorrow evening on Gal. It is somewhat last minute,” Kolivan continues, “but it is imperative that every faction of the coalition is represented. We must all acknowledge that Lotor and his generals are under our protection and that we have moles on the inside who aren’t just Blades.”

“Are you sure that’s appropriate?” Larka asks. “To let everyone know that Narti and Ezor are still on the inside?”

“What if Zarkon has his own spies within the coalition’s ranks?” Coran asks nervously. 

“It’s a gamble we must be willing to take,” Kolivan murmurs. 

“We’ll be back there within a few vargas,” Shiro nods.

The Marmora leader regards them coolly. “We will see you soon.” The holo-screen closes. 

“Alright, let’s get moving,” Shiro says, leaning down to rub behind Bae Bae’s ears. “We should head back to Gal. Slav will have to take command of the shield project.”

“Are you sure he can handle that?” Hunk asks. The alien scientist’s neurotic demeanor is well known throughout the coalition. But he is no less valuable than any other.

“He’ll have to,” Shiro grumbles in mild irritation. 

Pidge perches herself on the arm of her seat before leaning down to pat Keith’s belly. “And it’s not like Ryner won’t be there in case this reality becomes too much for him.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I feel like that’s a jab at me and my current condition.”

“It totally was,” Ryou drawls from his post beside Coran.

“Enough,” Shiro says despite the small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Let’s head out.”

Even with the jolting passive-aggressive banter between those who had once been enemies, Keith is happy that his family is finally getting along.


	22. Kogane

People are still flooding into the meeting hall later than expected the next evening. Keith yawns, leaning his head against Shiro’s shoulder as Tee-osh enters flanked by Matt and a bizarre alien with bright orange plumage haloing their neck. 

“Access into this quadrant has been cut off,” Matt whispers in between Shiro and Keith after circling the table.

Keith straightens up to look at Matt. “What?”

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks. 

“Supposedly some lieutenant under Sendak’s _guidance_ has been thinking of invading Gal,” Matt murmurs.

Keith’s eyes widen. “Does Kolivan know?”

Matt gestures over towards the front of the room where Tee-osh stands talking with Kolivan, a look of displeasure on his worn face.

“He does now,” Shiro scowls. “How did you get through the barricade?”

“We didn’t bring a lot of people to this meeting,” Matt says. “It’s just the three of us, but we called for reinforcements. They’re dealing with the Galra while Tee-osh initiated stealth mode.”

Keith sighs. Sendak won’t hold back now. Not when he’s got his position back. Not when he has Zarkon’s ear and a disposable number of loyal soldiers at his fingertips. 

Kolivan starts the meeting a little after everyone has arrived. The large hall is packed with people despite the meeting being scheduled last minute. He begins with greetings and then the usual affirmation of everyone speaking about where they are within the coalition: if they’ve recently taken any Galra strongholds, the amount of refugees that are being housed, and how to dispense resources. 

Yet throughout the meeting, some people take furtive and nervous glances at Lotor and his generals who sit between Keith’s parents. He’s sure all these people have questions about why an enemy is sitting in on a coalition meeting. 

“Why are we here, Kolivan?” asks the orange-feathered alien who accompanied Tee-osh and Matt. He was introduced as a commander who had taken over Ozar’s previous stronghold on Kraydah’s moon after Ozar was sent to Olkarion. The bristled feathers ringing around his neck are rising in amusement, but his bow-shaped mouth is taut and downturned in a permanent frown. Although Keith doubts that the man would smile even if he had the muscles to make such a facial expression. “I understand that we were always planning to create another summit, but this is rather last minute.”

Kolivan nods tersely. “I know that many are now aware that we have new alliances—”

“You mean the exiles?” A slender alien says with skin shimmering gray-white like the surface of Earth’s moon. She gestures over at Lotor. “How is he a new ally?”

To Keith's surprise, Larka says, “He is an enemy of Zarkon’s now. We must accept all of those who defect, or we are no better than him.”

“Larka, what they ask is important. Mel-tep,” Kolivan begins, gesturing to Tee-osh’s companion, “is correct to question why I’ve requested this meeting when we should be focusing on Zarkon’s commanders. Especially now that we have evidence that Commander Sendak’s control has been strengthened. I do wish to discuss the prince’s situation frankly so that there is no mistake that Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid are now our allies. They are undergoing training to become Blades.”

Silence greets his words before an enraged cacophony erupts.

“Are you out of your minds?”

“You think we can trust someone who had been nurtured at Zarkon’s side.”

“There is no proof that he won’t crawl back to his father just as Sendak has done!”

Keith shifts uncomfortably. 

Shiro rises to his feet, placing his hands against the edge of the table. Despite his silent disposition, his sudden stance quiets everyone down.

“I know these are unusual circumstances, but we’ve got to all remember that we weren’t always allies ourselves,” Shiro remarks. “Many of us didn’t even know one another existed and we worked within our own little units. The only way we have been able to survive this long and make a dent in Zarkon’s forces is because we chose to work together. If we don’t have that, we don’t have a coalition.”

Keith smiles up at Shiro faintly. He’s always had a delicate way with words, a gentle prodding that always got him and many others looking at the bigger picture. 

“So, where will they be staying, Shiro?” Mel-tep asks.

“Here with the Blades,” Allura comes to his defensive. “Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid still have much to prove to the Blades as well. Allow them this chance.”

Mel-tep looks thoughtfully over at Tee-osh, as if waiting for her response. Tee-osh nods, steadfast and knowing. Even though Mel-tep’s orange plumage still stands on edge, he defers to his own leader. 

“I know that many of you still do not trust us,” Lotor speaks softly, shifting his gaze to Larka, “and it might be for a good reason, but our only wish is to be able to prove our dependability.” 

Although there is still a palpable awkwardness, the meeting continues. Hazar brings up the fact that he’s been focusing on maintaining communication with Blades still in the field within Zarkon’s forces. He’s been receiving a steady flow of transmissions stating that more commanders are heading to Zarkon. The fact that the rebels were greeted by one of those forces outside the quadrant only reaffirms that there is a security risk. 

“They are going to Zarkon to prove themselves,” Lotor states. “In my absence, all the evidence points to the issue of my father strengthening his council and control on the border of his empire.”

No one doubts that discovery. Not when Voltron’s last mission did not go so well and that the freedom fighters had issues getting to Gal. 

“My vote is to not give Lotor to Zarkon,” Tee-osh says with many agreeing with her, “as long as he is under a watchful eye.” 

“I take full responsibility for my brother and his generals, Tee-osh,” Larka remarks. 

“I will take you at your word, Princess Larka.” 

The meeting ends soon after and Hunk disappears with Shay for their vacation together after quick goodbyes and a promise to return in a week and a half. 

“I think right now is the perfect time for some shore leave,” Lance preens, stretching out his arms above his head. “Rest, relaxation, and a soak in the bath.”

“We just had that meeting,” Pidge retorts. “Just because Hunk is going out with Shay for a while, doesn’t mean that we get to slack off.”

“Pidge is right,” Shiro says, “but even I need a break. We all do. Hang out tonight, but tomorrow we’re back to work.”

Pidge smiles before scampering off to meet with her mother and brother, while Allura pulls Lance back in the direction of the bathing hall. 

“Where’s Ryou?” Keith asks. 

“Went with your mom and dad after the meeting,” Shiro replies, tugging Keith down the street. “Come on. We might get some quiet time in your parents’ house.”

\--

For the next few quintants, balance is restored. Lotor, Acxa, and Zethrid resume their training with Ilun as Keith and his team watch over them. Larka resumes her own training with Allura and Pidge, even making Lotor join in. The lessons soon begin to blend and merge together, adding an even greater equilibrium to the balance they’ve created on Gal. Not only are they learning Blade techniques, but the required lessons to prepare them for battles against the druids. Maintaining control over one’s own mind becomes a focal point for the paladins and their new-found allies. Larka and Coran force them through meditation simulations, making their mental defenses just as powerful as their physical attacks. After each lesson, everyone is antsy and in need of some sleep. 

By the end of the week, Slav arrives with an Olkari team. After a successful installation on Olkarion, they hope to move to every one of the coalition’s outposts. With the help of the Blades’ ships and the Lions, they maneuver the incandescent blue plates in Gal’s atmosphere. It takes a longer time than anticipated, but the teams manage to get it done within the day.

“This will help bulk up our defenses,” Thace murmurs, arms crossed over his chest as he stares up at one of the floating plates. 

“I wish we could put these around each of our quadrants,” Keith murmurs, watching as the Green Lion gently rocks one piece into position. 

“If only space worked like that, son,” Thace remarks, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezing. “Have you gone to see Tolak?”

Keith shakes his head. “Mom said she’s gonna schedule my appointment.”

“Just remind her,” Thace says.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“She’s a bit weary right now,” his father says quickly.

The younger Blade looks over to his mother. She stands with Ulaz and Colleen, going over a few schematics for the defense system. All three scientists are pouring over the maps and tablets. Larka’s hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun. She nervously scratches at her neck before pointing at something on a portable holo-screen and then towards the sky. 

“Maybe she needs a vacation too,” Keith murmurs. 

“Your mother and I have been looking for a bigger house,” Thace explains. “Somewhere that your cub can have their own room and you and Shiro can have some privacy.”

“And Lotor can get his own place?”

“Lotor and the others will probably be living with us for a bit longer. Once they pass their Trials, maybe we can think about them moving out.” Thace pauses, almost wincing. “But Kythel… do you want to move out?”

Keith’s eyes widen in surprise. He shakes his head. “I mean… I’d love to have my own space again, but I-I don’t want to move out so soon. Not when I’m…” He waves his hand over his slightly swelling belly. 

“You can stay with us for as long as you want,” Thace smiles, affectionately squeezing Keith’s shoulder once more.

Hunk returns soon after on a sweltering, humid day. 

“You know it’s December on Earth, right?” He dramatically throws himself down on the couch in the lounge aboard the Castleship. “Why is it so hot outside?”

“Because we’re not on Earth, Hunk,” Pidge says, trying to wire what looks like a walkie-talkie. “We’re on Gal and it’s summer.” 

“How’s pregnant Galra Keith doing today?” Hunk asks with a smile, patting Keith’s stomach.

“Hungry. Tired.”

“So, the usual?” Ryou quips, flipping through channels. 

Hunk rolls his eyes, shifting his hand across Keith’s belly. “You know, it feels like… Are you showing?!”

Shiro flicks Hunk’s hand off Keith before wrestling the remote out of Ryou’s hands. 

“I’m just barely,” Keith murmurs quietly. 

“That feels more than just barely,” Hunk grins. 

“Did your mom make the appointment?” Shiro asks, finally getting the remote only for it to be snatched out of his hands by Hunk. 

“Yeah, for this weekend,” Keith replies. 

“Good. I want to be there,” Shiro says.

“I know. I wasn’t going to _not_ tell you, it’s just—” Keith’s words are cut off when Lance enters the lounge out of breath and shoulders heaving. 

“We gotta go,” Lance says, panting. 

Everyone sits up, turning to face the sharpshooter. 

“Commander Branko – you know the Galra dude with the mug that could use some exfoliant – well, he’s invading Olkarion,” Lance says, the words rushing out of him.

“Alright, let’s suit up,” Shiro says, standing to help Keith to his feet. “You, Prince Kythel, need to get off this ship.”

Keith groans.

“Kolivan’s orders,” Ryou smirks. 

Keith kisses Shiro on the corner of his mouth. “Be careful, please.”

“Always,” Shiro smiles, curling a hand to the nape of Keith’s neck.

\--

Keith watches as the Castleship disappears in the distance. 

Boredom starts to peak and he ventures towards the science building in hopes of finding his mother in her laboratory. The humidity is truly devastating today. Thin rivulets of sweat bead down his back, soaking through the collar of his shirt. When he reaches the science building, he breathes a sigh of relief at the cool ventilated air. He walks down the corridor but stops as he sees the door to the laboratory open with the locking mechanism deactivated. Treading softly on his feet, Keith carefully sticks to the wall and hopes to not make a sound. 

“I don’t know how soon we can get there,” Kolivan says, his familiar voice trickling out into the hallway. “Voltron has just left to deal with Branko. We could be invaded at any dobosh. I won’t have all of you meandering through space for something that may not be there.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. 

“And if the intel from her is correct? What are we to do?” Larka chuffs. “Just disregard it? This is one lead I’m not going to back down from.” 

_Narti?_

“Let me make this even clearer, Larka,” Kolivan says gruffly. “I don’t want you out in the field right now. Not with Sendak—”

“I’m perfectly capable of—”

“You just denied his request to hand over Lotor,” Kolivan interrupts. “Do you really think he’s going to let you go now that you’ve disrespected him?”

“Calm down, the both of you,” Thace remarks. “What happens if we don’t act on this intel?” 

“It disappears,” Larka says. “We lose it. We lose him and whatever else those druids have been doing.”

Keith gulps inaudibly. They’re talking about his dad. He curls his hands into tight fists. Have they found something?

“And which is more important, Larka,” Kolivan scoffs, “finding Mick Kogane or finding the druids?”

“Both,” Larka sneers. “We find both.”

Kolivan makes an exasperated noise. 

“She’s narrowed down the search,” Thace murmurs, trying to calm his wife and his leader. “It’s still a large area, but it’s manageable.”

“But the only problem is that it is far away,” Larka admits. “Hazar said we’ll have to access a transportation hub to gain the coordinates. He’s explained this thousands of times. We need to act on this. Now!”

“You want me to grant you a stealth mission?” Kolivan asks. 

His mother doesn’t say anything, but she’s probably nodding emphatically. 

“You’re just going to do this whether I approve of it or not. I know you,” Kolivan groans. “Fine. The two of you will go tomorrow morning.” 

_Tomorrow?_ They can’t wait until tomorrow. If they’ve been discussing this for so long, they’ve wasted enough time. There’s crucial information on his dad’s whereabouts. They need to go now. Keith nervously licks his lips, taking small steps backwards. 

An unmanned transportation hub rests within the same quadrant as Gal, retaken when the coalition gained control of the stronghold. Maybe he can hack his way thorough some database and get the location. Keith takes another hasty step backwards and is just about to turn the corner when he bumps into a solid figure. 

Keith jumps, slowly turning around to see Lotor looking at him with a tilted head and a raised eyebrow. 

“Is your mother in there? I’m so bored and I want to help with that new—”

Keith smashes his hand over Lotor’s mouth. 

“Shh, I’m bored too,” he hushes the older Galran hybrid. “You want to go on a secret, off-the-books mission?”

Keith peels his hand away from Lotor’s face only to see a smirk coiled on the exiled prince’s lips. 

“You are certainly a bad influence,” Lotor says airily. “I’m in.”

\--

Keith and Lotor dock their ship on the port side of the transportation hub, an abandoned vessel wedged in a large piece of floating rock. 

“You look a bit tight in that uniform, little kit,” Lotor says, opening the airlock to enter the base. 

“Shut up,” Keith mutters. “You’re just tagging along.”

“Good, I’m glad that we’ve established that,” Lotor remarks. “So, when we eventually get a rather scolding lecture from Larka, I’ll just say I was _tagging along_ and it was you who forced me into your shuttle.”

“Shut up,” Keith groans. “We just need to get this information and get out.”

“Thank the Ancients that the auxiliary power is still on,” Lotor comments, skimming his fingers against a gray paneled wall. 

“I think Kolivan wanted to keep it on just in case we eventually needed this place,” Keith explains. “We might be able to make our own communication relay, right? One just for the coalition.”

“Perhaps,” Lotor says, “but it’s still possible for Zarkon’s forces to hack in themselves. If we can do it to them – even with all the barriers they have – they are capable of doing it to us.”

Keith hums. It makes sense that Zarkon would have the ability to take over the coalition’s communication, especially if his soldiers were prodding at the edges of their territory. 

_At least the encapsulation shield is setup and Gal will be protected,_ Keith thinks. 

“Why couldn’t we have taken one of my ships again?” Lotor asks as they make their way down the drafty corridor. "It would have been faster."

“My dad has tags on them,” Keith replies. “He’ll know if we take them out of the hanger at the airbase. He’d track us down. I don’t want him knowing where we are.”

Lotor narrows his eyes. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Coordinates,” Keith says. “Narti sent information to us and Kolivan’s just sitting on it. One of the databases here may have the intel.”

“But we’d need to access the servers at Central Command,” Lotor remarks. “The same servers that are monitored by druids and technicians. This will be difficult, Kythel.” Lotor pauses at the door leading to the control room. Keith places his hand against the identification panel. It scans his palm and the double doors slide open. 

“Coordinates to where?” Lotor asks, grabbing Keith’s wrist before he can enter the room.

Keith’s brows furrow. “What?”

“We are here for coordinates? Where is Narti sending us?” Lotor clarifies abruptly. 

“They are coordinates to my dad,” Keith admits. 

“The human one? From Earth?”

Keith nods. 

Lotor lets out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He looks like he wants to admit something himself, but instead he chuffs and drops Keith’s wrist.

“Fine, let’s just find these coordinates before Larka skins us alive,” Lotor says. 

Keith pushes past Lotor, attempting to ignore the brief yet awkward altercation. One of the computer consoles is dimly lit and softly humming in the warm chamber of the control room. Watching Pidge do this millions of times has prepared him. Keith connects his wrist device to the console, decoding some of the files before breaching Central Command’s mapping servers. It takes him a while, narrowing down his searches until he makes his way to a selection of folders for mapped territories on the outer edges of the empire. He scans them chronologically. It would be better to copy them all, but—

Keith’s eyes widen. Hidden within a recent file is his name in Galran glyphs. But not his Galra name… not the one Larka gave him. 

K-E-I-T-H 

His palms grow sweaty, his mouth feels dry. He tries his hardest to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest, but his belly keeps doing somersaults. He presses one of his hands to the small swell as if that will calm his jittery nerves. 

Could this be—

“We need to leave,” Lotor says from his position at the large observatory window. “We need to go.” 

Keith’s eyes snap up. “What? I’m not—”

“There’s a Galra warship that just jumped out of hyper-space,” Lotor remarks, moving away from the window to hover over Keith’s shoulder. “Take what you can and let’s go.”

Keith swallows around the lump in his throat. He eyes the file once more before beginning to copy it over. 

One of the other consoles beside him activates, highlighting the area in a washed-out light purple. 

“What is this?” Keith looks over at Lotor. “Can they access the transportation hub from the outside.”

Before Lotor can answer, the holo-screen in front of them turns on. The image pixelates and Keith’s heart plummets as the blood drains from his face. His hand grips at the edge of the console to steady himself.

“Quiznak,” Lotor curses. 

“Well if it isn’t the imperial princes. It is surprising to see the both of you not clinging to Larka’s skirts today,” Sendak grins. “Know this: after I take you two, I will firebomb Gal until it’s nothing but smoldering rocks.”


	23. Metaphysical Dynamics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written and rewritten this chapter a total three times over the course of the last few months. I guess you could say we're kinda at the point of no return.

Keith’s hands shake when Sendak’s face floods the screen in front of him. _Is this a trap?_ he wonders. No. Not possible. This is intel from Narti; and Lotor wouldn’t want to see Sendak’s face so soon. Keith is sure that there is too much bad blood between them after Sendak fled to Zarkon. He isn’t surprised because he knows the only reason that Sendak helped his mother and him from the Deadzone was because of some residual, fading feelings for the Galran princess. But those emotions are gone and the bonds are broken. 

The young Blade glances down at his wrist device. Sixty-eight percent. Not enough. He wants this file. Completely. He needs it. He silently wishes he would have paid more attention to his mother’s lessons. Learning how to communicate telepathically like the druids would come in handy right about now. He could speak to Lotor that way, couldn’t he? But Lotor may not be able to focus on that with how sour he’s looking, like this adventure was not worth this shady intel.

“Is this Narti’s doing?” Keith whispers even as Sendak prattles on about firebombs and enslaving the princes. “Did she set us up?”

“Kythel,” Lotor murmurs darkly. “This isn’t intel from Narti.”

His heart stutters in his chest. Not intel from Narti? Then who gave this information to Kolivan and his mother. Hazar did… but then where did he get it from? Was he a mole? 

Keith shakes his head to clear himself of his thoughts. He needs to stop thinking everyone could be a traitor. He’s starting to trust people more. Team Voltron and the Blade of Marmora are his family. He can’t doubt them. Not when they’ve come this far. 

“Are you ungrateful miscreants listening?” Sendak growls from the holo-screen. “Prepare to be boarded. Come willingly and you will not be harmed.”

Lotor chuffs in disdain. “You are an untrustworthy fool.” He then slams a dagger into the second console. It spits and crackles before blacking out, the holo-screen shutting down with it. Lotor turns back to Keith. “How much more time do you need?” 

Eighty-three percent.

“Just a few more ticks,” Keith replies. “Almost done.”

“Good because I don’t—”

The transportation hub shifts forward upon the rock it’s nestled on as a thick beam of plasma strikes the base. Lotor flies across the second console head first, landing by the front glass of the control room. Keith catches himself against the side of his console before collapsing in an ungraceful heap as another blast strikes the hub.

“I don’t think he’s going to take us as hostages anymore,” Keith mutters, standing on wobbly legs. 

Lotor is surprisingly quick to aid him, helping him upright.

“I’m sure the sadistic monster will still be eager to hand our dead bodies over to Zarkon,” Lotor quips dryly, his hand gripping tightly to the hilt of his dagger. “This attack is bold. Even for him.”

Ninety-four percent.

“What do you mean that this wasn’t Narti?” Keith asks as the vessel groans when another plasma beam strikes the rock. 

Lotor casts an annoyed look over at Keith. “She may be looking for your father as we agreed, but she hasn’t made any headway. The last time Larka made contact with Narti, she had spoken with Ezor instead. They’re not even close to gaining access to wherever the druids are keeping him.”

“But I thought y’all—”

“You thought wrong!” Lotor’s voice raises.

Keith studies Lotor. Beads of sweat dot his temples and he’s watching as the percentage ticks higher and higher.

“Why are you so nervous?” Keith asks. 

“I’m not,” Lotor grimaces.

Keith rolls his eyes but is elated when his wrist device pings in completion. He smiles down at his wrist and takes a deep breath. Whoever gave the Blades this information knew that Mick had been able to craft a message and that it would somehow find its way to Larka. Wherever Mick was, he knew Larka would know it was him if he used the name of their son. That had to be the reason why Thace and Larka were so hopeful about going on their mission the following morning. Keith can only hope that his hypothesis is correct.

“We need to go,” Lotor says, grabbing at Keith’s shoulder and pulling him towards the door. 

Keith doesn’t argue as they rush down the corridors and towards the direction they came from. 

“If he has blasted our shuttle, I hope you have a distress signal to reach Gal,” Lotor mutters as they round one corner and then another.

Keith skids to a halt, nearly crashing into Lotor. The sound of thumping boots on a metal floor has his heart plummeting again. 

“Can we take them all?” Keith whispers harshly. 

“Not risking it,” Lotor murmurs back. “It’s two against a horde. And if you think that Sendak won’t blast his way through this base with his own crew aboard it then you are sorely mistaken, boy.”

“There has to be another way to the hanger,” he remarks. 

The hammering boots is only getting closer. Keith unsheathes his blade from its scabbard, brandishing it at his side. 

“Think about what you are about to do,” Lotor says, eyeing the luxite weapon in Keith’s hand. 

The younger Galra cocks an eyebrow. Lotor has his own dagger clenched in his hand. How can such words be so contradictory and condescending? Lotor may overanalyze every move he makes, but he’s still impulsive.

“How many do you think are coming?” Keith asks pointedly. 

“Five… maybe six,” Lotor remarks. “And that’s just down this corridor.”

Keith braces himself against the wall as the footsteps grow a bit more frantic, echoing through the chilly air. He hopes he can count on Lotor to have his back. Without warning, Keith kicks away from the first wall, leaping through the air to push himself off the opposite panel. His blade burns hotly in his gloved hand. His sharp nails unsheathe themselves, slipping through the slits in the leathered gauntlets. His clawed fingers strike across the fleshy face of a soldier. A squelching noise greets him, but not before a breathy scream. With his blade, Keith grapples off the soldier, springing to the next. It’s a sentry, but the blade rends through metal and wires. 

Lotor breezes past him to make his own counterattacks on three of the other soldiers. They’re ready for him with guns raised. Dodging and rolling, Lotor makes quick work of the first two. 

“Lotor!” Keith shouts as the third sentry forgoes shooting by bringing the butt of his rifle down across Lotor’s cheekbone. He stumbles back but quickly finds his footing once more. He dodges, drops to the floor, and sweeps the metal legs right out from beneath the robot. He falls to the side and Keith takes the opportunity to bring down his blade across the sentry’s neck, severing the head from the rest of its body.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks.

“I’m fine,” Lotor replies, wiping away the blood with the back of his hand. It smears across his cheek, leaving a tacky trail to his hairline. “There will be more. We need to hurry to the hanger.”

Keith says a little prayer to whatever Ancient will hear him so they don’t run into anymore troops, but as they get closer to the hanger they realize that their luck has run dry. Several of Sendak’s troops mill about, some even prodding their locked shuttle as they attempt to gain access to the Marmora vessel. 

Lotor nearly drags Keith over to a large crate holding replacement wall panels. 

“Do you think he’s here?” Keith whispers. “Do you think Sendak—”

Lotor slaps his hand across Keith’s mouth to silence him. “Quiet. There’s a druid here.”

Keith’s eyebrows raise as Lotor pulls away. “What?”

“You don’t feel that?” Lotor’s eyes flutter shut. 

Gritting his teeth, Keith does the same. He tries to recall his mother’s teachings with Allura and Pidge, sinking into the embrace of the quintessence that lives inside of everyone, pulling at some sort of elusive spirit. The hissing of whispers filters through his ears. It’s an antagonistic and overwhelming feeling, being connected to all these beings who cling to the void. In the distance he feels those he’s close to: Allura, Pidge, his mother and Dorma, even Lotor. But there’s the distinct feeling of his grandmother, clouded by gauzy black smoke. Tendrils coil around him and he wrestles with the feeling that he’s letting something in that he shouldn’t. He reaches out deeper and senses Narti. Not here, but leagues away. Keith’s eyes snap open, instantly aware that Narti truly wasn’t the one to send the intel to Hazar. Her mind is empty of Mick Kogane’s current location or the promise of mysterious coordinates. 

“Quiznak,” Lotor curses once more. “It’s that witch.”

Keith peeks out from behind the crates. Sure enough, Haggar stands beside a vessel pulling into the hanger. Her back is to them, but he can see her head tilt from beneath her cowl. 

“She knows we’re here,” Keith murmurs. 

“No shit,” says a harsh whisper behind them. Keith and Lotor almost topple over the crate they’re hidden behind as Ezor drops her chameleon invisibility cloaking and crouches between them. She no longer wears Lotor’s colors, instead a low-ranking uniform of an imperial soldier. But it isn’t as if Lotor even wears his colors anymore. He’s been given his own Marmora uniform.

“Ezor,” Lotor breathes.

“Prince Lotor, Prince Kythel,” Ezor greets softly, pressing her right fist against her heart. “What are the two of you doing here?”

“Intel,” Keith says simply.

“That’s why Sendak came here,” she remarks. “He gained knowledge that one of the transportation hubs was activated near Gal. No wonder.”

“Why is Haggar here?” Lotor grits his teeth.

“Empress Honerva,” Ezor corrects, peering out from behind the crates to catch a glimpse of the high priestess. “Zarkon has given her back her _original rank_.”

Keith grips his hands on his knees and takes a deep breath. No way.

“I’ve been following them around Central Command,” Ezor explains, “but after you Blades didn’t want to hand over Prince Lotor, Zarkon told the high priestess to go with Sendak. Spread the word that his wife is once more by his side. I don’t know how well that will rally the Galra, but it seems to be working for now. Commanders in the outskirts join him every day, pledging their loyalty again.”

Lotor blinks owlishly. 

“When I heard that they were moving out because a beacon was activated in Gal’s space, I had to sneak aboard,” Ezor smiles playfully. “But I didn’t think it would be you two.”

“We need to get out of here before Haggar—”

“Empress,” Sendak shouts as he descends the ramp. The three spies peak over the edge of the crate. Sendak is flanked by two guards and outfitted with a new arm. “Did you find them?”

“Team four hasn’t returned or reported back in,” Haggar’s voice sounds different, like hardened honey melting on a summer day. “We must assume that the traitors have dispatched those men.”

“I’ll find them,” Sendak growls. 

“No!” Haggar shouts hastily. “We report back to Central Command.”

Lotor narrows his eyes and Keith instinctively knows what’s he’s thinking. She knows where they are. Why not come for them?

“But Empress—”

“You still take my orders, correct?” 

Sendak scrutinizes the hanger, cybernetic eye straining to catch a glimpse of their shadows. There’s a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “I know Larka wouldn’t give you to us.”

“We’re leaving now!” Haggar admonishes. 

But Sendak ignores her in favor of taking steps into the center of the hanger. Ezor pulls them until their backs are pressed to the crate. She’s taking a deep breath, trying to curb her frenzied nerves. She’s gotten away with spying because of her invisibility, but Sendak is an opponent that Ezor surely doesn’t want to deal with in hand-to-hand combat.

“Lotor, she loves you too much. Isn’t that her weakness?” Sendak continues talking. “I knew she would take you under her wing… no matter how many times you try to kill her.”

“Sendak!”

“It’s no matter. I’ve only proved to Emperor Zarkon that the two of you will always remain loyal to one another. He will wholeheartedly agree with my decision to crush the both of you.”

Lotor’s hand curls around the hilt of his blade, but it loosens when Ezor softly pats his knee. Keith swallows around the ball of heat in his throat, a wave of nausea palpitates in his belly and it takes effort to keep it down. 

“Branko may have failed and perished on Olkarion today, but do not expect other commanders to go easy on your sniveling coalition,” Sendak continues brazenly. Keith lets out a breath of relief. So, Team Voltron and the encapsulation shield was successful in protecting Olkarion and its people.

“I have to go,” Ezor suddenly murmurs. Before they can ask her what she means, Ezor is standing up. She straightens herself out, taking a waltzing step towards the Galra troops. “You’re talking to yourself, Sendak. They aren’t here.”

Keith’s eyes widen. 

“They’re probably still stirring trouble for team four,” Ezor mocks. 

“Why is she here?” Sendak asks darkly.

“She is my personal bodyguard,” Haggar says, not skipping a beat. “I have her watch me from the shadows. And as she said, they aren’t here. We would have better luck killing them by leaving and destroying this base.”

There’s a shuffling of footsteps as Sendak signals his troops to get back on their ships. Apparently, he still listens to Haggar, but it is evident that there is a power struggle between them. 

Keith lets out a breath of relief. Another tendril of the void trickles out, licking across his cheek as if fingers are stroking against his skin. Lotor touches his cheek, feeling the sensation too. D-did Haggar save them? Keith shakes his head as he hears the ships power up and drop out of the hanger. 

“We need to go, Lotor,” Keith says, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him up. “We need to get to the shuttle. We’ll scan it for bugs when we get out of this area.”

Lotor still has his hand pressed to his cheek and Keith guides him to the shuttle tucked in the corner of the hanger. He’s belting him in when he realizes that Lotor is shell-shocked. Had he not expected that either? Ezor’s simple sacrifice and Haggar’s choice to protect them from Sendak. 

They make it out of the blast radius just as Sendak’s fleet enters hyper-space.

\--

“Are the two of you touched in the head?!”

Keith grimaces as Larka paces the length of the living room. 

“Do you know how stupid that was?” Larka continues. “How dangerous?! I thought we were making progress, but apparently the two of you need to be physically watched every moment of every quiznaking quintant! Lotor, I vouched for you in front of the entire coalition's council!”

“Larka,” Thace chides. 

His wife raises her hand. “I am not finished.”

Lotor sinks into the couch beside Keith, no doubt trying to tune out Larka’s henpecking. Kolivan eyes them from his place beside Thace, anger radiating from him in droves. 

“Do you know how I found out my brother and son went on a little unscheduled mission?” Larka throws her hands up in the air. “Shiro called me saying he would be late, helping clean up that mess on Olkarion. Said he couldn’t reach Kythel and asked me to pass on the message. As if I’m some kind of communication relay you kits can just bounce videos off of.”

Zethrid snorts into her hand, but quiets when Larka’s golden eyes cuts over to her. “You think this is amusing?”

“No, Princess,” Zethrid chokes around a cough.

“And then these two,” Larka points to Zethrid and Acxa, the latter trying to melt into the wall, “tell me you two went on a joyride! Said you overheard us talking! Do you know how dangerous that was? Sendak could have killed the both of you.”

“But, Mom, he didn’t,” Keith pipes up.

Larka raises her hand again. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“What the two of you did was reckless,” Kolivan says darkly. “You went on an unauthorized mission that led to the annihilation of a base we would eventually need.”

“ _Annihilation?_ That seems a bit excessive,” Lotor chuckles. 

Kolivan takes a step forward, but Thace grabs his shoulder to pull him back. He takes a deep breath before sitting on the coffee table. 

“What did you hear?” Thace asks.

“That you and Mom were going to go on a mission in the morning,” Keith reluctantly admits. “There was intel that we needed to track down Dad. But she said that that intel could disappear. I didn’t think we could wait.”

Thace lets out another exhausted sigh. “Kythel.”

“I was feeling useless,” Keith mutters. “I just wanted to help. Voltron has to go play galactic constable, and I’m here barefoot and pregnant with nothing to do but watch others train. I just wanted to help.”

Larka’s face softens. 

“If you wanted to help, you should have said something to us,” Thace remarks. “You’re obviously not a child anymore so you have to make your decisions yourself, but you can’t act so reckless again. Do you understand, Kythel?”

“Yes,” Keith murmurs. 

“Now what did you find?” Thace asks, a smile breaking out across his face. 

“There was a hidden file in the terminal,” Keith starts, happy that his father isn’t going to question his choices further. “It had my name on it.”

Lotor straightens up at that. Although he had been with him, watching as he downloaded the file, he hadn’t seen the file name.

“What do you mean?” Thace inquires.

“The name on the file was mine,” the young Blade answers. “The name Dad gave me.”

“Was it in an Earth language?” Larka’s eyebrows raise. “English? A variant in another language? Japanese?”

Keith shakes his head. “Simplified Galran.”

“She found him,” Thace says, his smile widening. 

“I can’t believe it,” Kolivan mutters.

“She wouldn’t have been able to teach him traditional,” Larka says. “That was too difficult when I tried to teach him.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. 

“They would know that we would know that,” Kolivan says. “Kythel, did you get the copy of the file? The coordinates in it may be encrypted.”

“It’s on my wrist device,” Keith comments. 

“What is going on?” Lotor asks, scrutinizing Larka and Thace. “The two of you were supposed to be the ones to find the intel. How would you have known where to look? The kit found it by dumb luck.”

Keith prickles. “I know how to hack into consoles and search through databases.”

“One of our Blades on the outskirts of the Empire has made contact with Mick,” Kolivan says. “She’s been feeding us information for the past few phoebs.”

“What?” Keith sputters. “Why can’t we go get him?”

“It’s more complicated than that, son,” Thace says. “The outer territories are… well, they’re far away. This kind of rescue mission would take Voltron, the Blades, countless teams from the coalition. It would be far more difficult than it was when we rescued you and your mother from the Deadzone.” 

“It would take a significant amount of planning,” Larka adds tersely. “Although we know he’s on the outer rim, Krolia hasn’t been able to narrow down the precise location. She had been with him for a while, but then the druids sent him to a science base elsewhere and she was reassigned to Warlord Ranveig’s fleet.”

“We have another Blade – Josta – working with Ranveig’s fleet, but they have yet to make contact with each other. That is how great Ranveig’s territory reaches,” Kolivan explains. “But unlike our current location which is near the center of the Galra Empire, the outer territories are heavily fortified. The druids are probably using that fact as cover. They know we won’t make a sudden move.”

“Then we should head out soon,” Acxa interrupts abruptly. “They won’t suspect us if we strike first!” 

Kolivan regards her with a stern gaze. “I understand your enthusiasm, truly I do. But, Acxa, we cannot do this yet. Like Larka has said, the coordinates Krolia provided are probably not as precise as we would want.”

“But it’s better than nothing,” Acxa chuffs. 

“Acxa,” Thace chastises, shaking his head. “We cannot get there without a foolproof plan. It’s not possible any other way. We can’t just amble around that region of space. Not without a sizable force of the coalition and not with many soldiers already flooding back to Zarkon’s side. We wait for Krolia to meet with Josta. We wait for them to contact us. Then _and only then_ will we attempt this rescue mission. We need more intel.” 

Keith casts a wary glance over at Acxa. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s anxiously wringing her hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lotor looking at her too.

“Mother is going by Empress Honerva now,” Lotor says, shifting the conversation. 

“What?” Larka turns her head. “What do you mean _Empress Honerva_?”

“Seems like she has her memories back.” Lotor says, gaze still fixed on Acxa. “She and Father are a happy couple once more.”

“How do you know this?” Kolivan inquires. 

“Because she was at the transportation hub.”

\--

Keith is sandwiched between his parents. The soles of his mother’s cold feet are pressed to his calves. His father’s soft snores attempt to lull him to sleep. Keith smooths one of his hands down the small swell of his abdomen. They’re barricading him in like he’ll abscond on some mission again. Ever since he revealed his pregnancy, his parents had grown even more protective. He regrets making them worry.

But the worry has now bled into wariness. Learning that Ezor had to reveal herself had made not only his mother tense but Zethrid and Acxa too. However, learning about _Empress Honerva_ had truly sent her over the edge. While she had been so angry with them disappearing and voiced her irate fury, knowing that Haggar had her memories back only filled Larka with melancholy. Something that she had attempted to mask. But Lotor had seen through it and immediately took her aside. They had spent the whole evening together and only returned a few vargas before bed. 

Keith sighs. Sleep evades him again. He presses a hand against his belly, eager to feel even the softest of flutters. 

_It’s too soon for that,_ he reminds himself.

Slowly, he slips out from beneath the covers and eases himself up. Even though he doesn’t want to disturb his parents, he still manages to. His mother’s hand shoots up – as if she wasn’t in a deep sleep mere moments ago – and grabs onto his upper arm.

“Where are you going?” she asks. Her voice is clear. She hasn’t slept.

“I’m thirsty,” Keith says. “I need a glass of water.”

Larka’s hand drops as she sits up. “I can get it for you.”

“Mom, I can get it myself,” he says, his legs tangled in the sheets as he scrambles up.

“It’s alright,” she murmurs. “I can—”

“Larka,” his father grunts, half asleep. “He can do it himself.”

Keith and Larka turn to look at Thace, his face buried into the pillow.

“Just leave the door open,” he says, “so we can hear you.”

Keith chuffs. As if Thace needs the door open to hear him. The man can hear whispers through walls from five miles away. He nods in thanks and scampers out of the room, barely noticing when Thace pulls Larka against him and murmurs something to her in his hazy sleepiness. 

A dim light is on in the den. Keith bypasses the kitchen to see Acxa awake, flipping through frequency channels on the holo-screen.

“I thought you’d be sleeping beside Lotor,” Keith murmurs softly.

Acxa turns to him, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Not every second-in-command clings to their commander.”

Keith scowls at her biting tone before taking a seat beside her.

Her gaze wanders across his stomach before flicking back to the holo-screen.

“Well, I didn’t think that you were like me,” she says, smirking.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

She says nothing, just gestures towards his belly.

“That I’m one of those third sex people?” Keith prods, strained. His hand presses against his belly protectively.

“ _Cogliarket_ ,” Acxa corrects him, using the archaic Galran word for their gender.

“…but I thought we usually presented a more masculine identity,” Keith says.

“I prefer the feminine,” Acxa smirks. “But Lotor is more attracted to people who look like Zethrid if you really want me to air out his business.”

Keith shakes his head. “So… people who look like Sendak…?”

“Correct,” she says, resuming with her channel surfing. “He hates the commander and the commander hates him, but I guess they had some fun times together.”

Keith almost chokes. 

“How do you expect to fight in a war while you’re pregnant?” Acxa asks.

His hands curl into fists. “My mom managed just fine.”

“Your dam put you into hiding.”

“She also didn’t have supportive parents,” Keith counters. “I do.”

“That’s true,” she chuffs.

The room falls silent save for the gentle hum of the holo-screen.

“Where’s Zethrid?” Keith asks. “I thought she’d be snoring out here.”

Acxa shrugs. “Ever since your leader gave us permission to train at the gymnasium, she spends most of her time there. Weightlifting. Training alongside those who will spar with us.” She shrugs again. “She’s anxious. It’s how she works through her stress.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say. What reason does Zethrid have to be stressed? But he knows that’s a stupid question to ask aloud. When he and his mother were at the Deadzone, when he was forced to train with Lotor and wear the uniform of his loyalists, his mother had kept her hands busy in the laboratory she was given. Keeping herself occupied as stress danced upon her shoulders, adding to her weariness.

He asks the question anyways.

Acxa chuffs. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Keith grits out. “I am. We’ve given you sanctuary. You’re safe here. My mother’s begrudgingly given her word that she won’t use Lotor’s entrails as fertilizer. She allows both you and Zethrid to live in her house—”

“It’s the fact that we had to leave Narti and Ezor behind,” Acxa snarls, “you insufferable brat.”

Keith smiles, happy with the reaction. It’s a change from her persistent sulking and deadly stare. Does he usually come off like this?

A small smile peaks out from the corners of her lips. She wants to laugh; he can tell. But she’s straining at the seams. “I think knowing Ezor had to reveal herself has made Zethrid uneasy.”

“Why’d you have to leave them behind? Why didn't you all just come to us together?”

“They’re better warriors during stealth missions. They’re slinking their way through Zarkon’s ranks. Ezor’s got that camouflage trait from her mother’s people,” Acxa pauses. “And you know Narti. She’s a druid through and through. Warps people’s minds if you’re not too careful. Zethrid and I… we’re no good for those types of things. She’ll demolish a fortress to get Lotor to safety, but she’s terrible where stealth and agility are needed.”

“And you?”

Acxa raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. 

“That paladin,” she starts, “the one that wears the blue and white armor… he flies the Red Lion, correct?”

“You know his name is Lance,” he drawls.

“What is Lance’s strength?”

Keith straightens up, obsessively pressing a hand to his abdomen. He narrows his eyes.

“I told you the strengths of my teammates,” she says, tilting her head. “It’s only fair you tell me one of yours.”

“Tactician,” Keith says after taking a deep breath. “He’s the team’s main tactician. Our sharpshooter and Shiro’s second-in-command.”

Acxa smirks, waving her hand as if to say hello.

“It seems Lance and I have the same strength.”

Keith leans back in his seat.

“Does it bother you?” Acxa asks.

“What?”

“That you no longer fly one of those things,” she clarifies.

Keith purses his lips. “Sometimes. I think I’d be able to do it again if the time comes, but…”

“But what?” she asks. 

“I have other priorities right now,” Keith murmurs. “I have people I need to keep safe. I trust Lance with what he’s doing. I trust him with Shiro’s life. He’s never failed us. I doubt he ever will.”

“Bold words,” Acxa murmurs.

“Nevertheless, they’re true.”

There’s silence as they both turn back to the holo-screen. More late-night cartoons from a quadrant away.

“I’m envious of you,” Acxa suddenly says.

Keith furrows his eyebrows. “What? Why?”

“You got your dam’s blade,” Acxa pauses. A childish expression streaks across her face, like a small girl seeing a toy her brother is playing with and she wants it so badly. “I didn’t get my dam’s blade.”

Keith’s eyes widen and he sits up, turning to face her. “Wait?! What?! What do you—”

“That Blade they were talking about… Krolia. She’s my mother.”

Keith is about to ask her to clarify herself – _You can’t just spring this on me and then shut down_ he wants to sputter – when the shuffle of feet on the floor startles them. Thace wanders in bleary-eyed as he rummages through one of the cabinets and fills a glass with water.

“Kythel,” he murmurs after he downs the glass. “Your mother is driving me crazy. Please, I’m begging you. Get back to bed.”

Keith roughly pushes himself off the couch. “I—”

“You too, Acxa,” Thace mutters, waving his hand like he’s herding cattle into the bedroom. “You should get some sleep.” 

“Are you sure I should join… there’s probably not enough—” Acxa begins nervously.

“The three of you better get in this room now,” Larka’s voice trails into the kitchen and living room. “I want to sleep. I can’t do that with you kits talking about things that should be discussed in the morning.”

“I told you,” Thace says, continuing to herd them in. “She’s driving me crazy.”

And that’s how Keith and Acxa find themselves in a puppy pile wedged between his parents, each wide awake and stewing over unasked questions. Keith only wishes he had gotten that glass of water.


	24. Broken Things

Keith wakes up to an empty bed. The sheets are cool even with the sun shining through the open window. He steps out of the room to find Shiro at the kitchen table, sipping on tea while reading some news on a datapad.

“I heard you had an adventure yesterday,” Shiro remarks with a grin. 

Keith rolls his eyes, busying himself with the glass of water he should have gotten the night before. He takes hasty gulps from the glass. “Where is everyone?”

“Your parents are in the lab,” Shiro replies. “Everyone else went to the gym.”

Keith takes a few steps towards Shiro, slipping into his lap and curling his head against Shiro’s broad chest. “Go on. I know what’s waiting for me.”

Shiro laughs. “I’m not going to tell you what you did was wrong, even though I really, _really_ want to.”

“Thanks for that,” Keith smirks.

Shiro waits until Keith has showered and dressed before they both head down to the science building. He retells everything that had happened since Team Voltron went to Olkarion. From getting the file to Sendak and Haggar… and finally to Acxa. Shiro surprises him by mentioning he already knew.

“Your dad told me the gist of it this morning before they left. You think Lotor knew?” Shiro asks as the sliding doors to the building open. “Do you think Acxa told him at some point?”

“I don’t know,” Keith admits. “Maybe, but it does explain a lot. She was pretty adamant about getting Lotor to my mom. Maybe she knew that they’d all be safer here from firsthand accounts.”

The black paladin tilts his head to the side. “True, but it still doesn’t explain why she had kept this from us.”

“There’s another thing,” Keith says. “I think my parents and Kolivan knew about it. When Lotor and I got back, they were actually _happy_ that they had gotten this message from the Blade and everything they thought was correct. And then once Mom mentioned Krolia, Acxa became obsessive.”

“How so?”

“She was pushing for Kolivan to retrieve my dad,” Keith pauses. “Maybe she wants to extract her mom too.”

“If that’s the case, she probably hasn’t seen her in a long time,” Shiro agrees. 

They enter his mother’s laboratory to find Thace at one of the free consoles, pouring over the file Keith had retrieved from the transportation hub. He’s swiping through a plethora of documents and maps.

“Find anything yet?” Keith asks. 

“There’s just so much here,” Thace answers, a lilt of excitement in his voice. “She’s gathered plenty of information to sift through.”

Shiro gravitates to Thace, hovering over the older man to read what is on the projected screen. Keith heads to his mother, seeing her looking over notes too. But they aren’t what Thace is looking at. 

“Is that Lotor’s research?” Keith asks.

“No,” Larka mutters. “Your grandmother’s. The research she hid before Daibazaal’s destruction, that coincidentally Lotor had found.”

“Why are you looking through that again?” Keith asks. “I thought Dorma and Ulaz got all the information you needed from it.”

Larka looks away from the screen, turning to stare at her son. “I want to know how he did it. Was it Zarkon who was able to free her from her madness or something else? Did he finally recognize her or had he always known? Her notes had been strange during the initial decline in her health, but even with its frazzled equations and annotations, there was still a bit of her left. After all this time, how was she able to do it?”

Keith remembers when they were at Central Command, when his mother was tortured by Haggar and her druids. Larka had tried to prod at Haggar’s psyche, searching for the Altean alchemist from before. She had no such luck, but perhaps it had started making the witch question her true identity. 

“What about Acxa?” Keith suddenly asks. 

Larka’s hand stills on the keypad.

“Last night,” Keith begins, “she just dropped that on me. I thought we said no more secrets.”

“That’s not our concern—”

“But it is,” Keith argues sternly. “Everything that concerns the Blades concerns all of us.” He can feel Shiro and his father’s eyes on him.

“How many other children are just floating in the void that happen to be—”

“That's not it,” Larka says. “Even I didn’t know until I started putting the pieces together. Krolia is Kolivan’s sister. I had my theories that perhaps — _perhaps_ — there was some relation to Acxa, but my main priority was getting you away from Zarkon and out of the Deadzone. I didn’t have time to sway children to our creed.”

“So, when _did_ you realize?” Keith asks angrily. 

“Lotor confirmed it,” she replies. “I don’t think he knew, but when he told me how he met Acxa… I should have realized sooner.”

Keith grits his teeth, hands balling at his sides. “You promised no more secrets.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you when I didn’t even fully know,” Larka hisses. “What you’re asking me is to act before knowing all the intel?”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Keith says scathingly. 

His mother reels back, eyes widening. Keith swallows around the guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Larka takes a deep breath. “It’s not your fault. You have every right to be upset. I should have told you.”

“So, that’s why Acxa wants to go?” Keith asks awkwardly.

Larka nods. “But Kolivan has said no. That’s final. If anyone is going to retrieve Krolia and Mick on some solo mission, it’s going to be Thace and I.” Keith makes a motion to argue, but Larka raises her eyebrows. “However, I know that you’d never live with that choice. That’s why we need to plan this out. It’s going to take some time, but we’ll find them. And we’ll pull back our forces. All of them. We’re going to need the extra hands with Sendak prowling so close to Gal.”

Keith takes a deep breath, nodding along with his mother’s words. “I-I… what I don’t understand is how come everyone is connected to the Blade of Marmora by…”

“Lineage?” Thace supplies.

Keith turns to his father, nodding again. “Yeah.”

“Because the Blade of Marmora always circled around trust, loyalty, and secrecy. Many of the younger Blades have a common lineage to older members. A blood relation,” Thace explains. “Ilun is Umaala’s aunt. Umaala was raised by Ilun after her parents died with honor trying to bring down Zarkon’s regime from the inside. You are a Blade and our son. Hazar and Dorma are brother and sister despite his previous affiliation within Zarkon’s ranks. Kolivan and Krolia are also siblings but have been with us since the beginning. Ulaz’s father joined the Blades after defecting long ago but has since died. Building our ranks with just defectors wasn’t easy. However, familial bonds were… because our secrecy was so paramount.” 

Keith clasps his hands together to keep from fidgeting. Would he and Shiro’s kid eventually become a Blade? Or would he try to hide this side of their heritage from them, shield them from the war and all its effects? Although it would ensure their safety, Keith doesn’t want those types of secrets casting doubt over their family. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Shiro says, tapping Thace’s hand on the console’s controls. “Stop scrolling. Go back up.”

Thace looks back at the holo-screen, clicking on something. Keith and his mother move over to them, looking over Thace’s other shoulder. 

“What is it?” Larka asks. 

Thace’s eyes narrow. “The main coordinates Krolia sent state that the last time they were together, they were in this quadrant over here,” he says, pointing to a purple section of a map. “It’s densely populated, primarily by the Galra but also native species of that region. I have no doubt that they’re using them in work camps.”

“But what’s that?” Keith points at a fuzzy green area on the map.

Larka anxiously taps on that section of the holo-screen map, causing the visual to zoom in. Thace bats her hand away, clawed fingers clacking at the keyboard as he searches for the information.

“It’s an area of that quadrant,” Thace says. “It’s our gateway in.”

Shiro tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean? Is it like a literal gate?”

Thace shakes his head. “It’s documented as an upgraded sentry manufacturing site. A moon. Tragoch.”

Larka stills before heading back to her console and plucking her datapad out of its charging station. She’s turning it on, the light illuminating the curious expression on her face. Her eyes narrow and she thrusts the device into Thace’s free hand. 

“What’s this?” he asks. 

Larka nods at the datapad. “Look at it. Those are some of Lotor’s notes he had shared with me. Tragoch. He was aware of its existence.”

Something dark rumbles in Keith’s chest. What was the significance of some sentry factory on the borders of the farthest reaches of the Galra Empire? And why would Lotor know about it if he had been centralizing his units for the last deca-phoeb?

“When Lotor went into self-exile, do you know exactly where he went?” Keith asks, bracing himself on the back of his father’s chair.

“Mostly science laboratories is what he reported,” Thace murmurs. “Which lines up with his current interest.”

“We shouldn’t doubt him right now,” Shiro remarks sternly. “We don’t know if he has a connection to that factory base? But it looks like Krolia has given us a way into that quadrant. We should take it.”

Keith hastily nods in agreement.

“It will give us access into that sector,” Thace says, turning to Larka. “We’d be able to disable their command, hack into any other sites nearby. We can finally breach farther into Zarkon’s empire.”

Larka gnaws on her lower lip, looking hesitantly at the map projected on the holo-screen. 

“Alright,” she murmurs. “We tell Kolivan what we’ve found. We’ll work from there.”

\--

Discussing it with Kolivan is quickly shoved to the back-burner, much to Keith’s annoyance. Keith and some of the Marmora leadership pile onto the Castleship later that day along with Lotor, Zethrid, and Acxa. Their Trials would be taking place during the next two quintants. But it’s only been months and Kolivan is willing to induct them so quickly. He knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on when he had all but demanded Kolivan tell him what his own blade meant. 

But finding out that Krolia’s intel somewhat matched up with Lotor’s own information made Keith nervous. Sighing, Keith dampens down that wishy-washy feeling. 

They reach the Blade of Marmora headquarters a varga later, and then have to wait another two until there is a clear pathway to the base hidden between two black holes. They all squeeze into the underbelly of Red and Lance pilots her quickly through the small path. 

“You’re just going to leave the Castleship out there?” Zethrid asks as the Red Lion touches down on one of the landing pads before descending into a recently built underground docking bay. 

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “Coran and Ryou stayed behind so it should be fine. If anything happens Team Voltron loads up into Red and we’re out of here.” 

“Accept we have to wait forever otherwise we'll get crushed to death,” Hunk huffs anxiously. 

Lance opens the underbelly’s loading door and they all jump out; Keith very carefully jumping into Shiro’s outstretched arms. 

Kolivan takes the lead, greeting a few Blades that have gathered as their welcoming party.

“Prince Kythel!” Umaala shouts, pushing past her chuffing aunt. The young Blade throws her arms around Keith’s neck and pulls him into a hug. “How’s the baby weight?”

“Please, stop,” Keith’s cheeks flush. He won’t be able to participate in the Trials, but he will be able to watch from the control room.

“I’m only teasing,” she says, ruffling his dark hair. 

“Keep doing it,” Pidge grins. “It’s funny.”

Keith rolls his eyes. 

“Enough, you two,” Kolivan says. “Ilun, get the acolytes to the training room. We’ll have Lotor go first.”

“So soon?” Lotor asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Kolivan replies, looking over at each of them before turning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway with Antok flanking him. 

Thace and Larka share tense looks before following. “We’ll see you in the control room,” Larka murmurs to Allura.

The Altean princess nods. “Sure.”

Keith looks over at Acxa. She’s staring at the glowing purple insignia that hovers near the ceiling. The one half of the Galra Empire’s crest. The Blade of Marmora’s emblem. Her lips part in wonder before she turns to look out one of the windows. Her face is awash with blue from the star outside. She’s been eerily silent for the duration of the trip, opting to burrow herself away in the lounge. In Red, she had planted herself on the bench’s furthest corner beside his mother. She even pointedly ignored Kolivan. But Kolivan also had done the same. Did they know each other’s connection to one another or were they feigning ignorance?

Acxa turns to follow Ilun and the others out of the room, eyes averted from Keith. Yeah. Feigning ignorance.

“Well, that’s awkward,” Lance remarks. “What the hell happened last night?”

“Acxa’s mother is a Blade,” Keith says plainly. 

“Wait! What?” Everyone but Shiro and Keith shout in unison. Even Umaala looks shocked, her mouth agape and eyes wide. 

“Holy crow,” Lance curses. 

“How did that happen?” Hunk asks. 

“Long story,” Keith says. “Probably longer than mine. We didn’t really get to talk about it since my parents told us to go to bed.”

“Was this before or after you and Lotor went gallivanting into the void?” Pidge asks, cocking her head to the side. 

“Obviously after,” he replies sarcastically. 

“So, where is she?” Allura asks. “Acxa’s mother?”

“In the field…” Keith looks away for a tick. “With my dad.”

“Wait! What?”

“So, let me get this straight,” Hunk bemoans, rubbing his temples with his forefingers, “Acxa’s mom happens to be in the field, working on a mission for the Blade of Marmora and she’s found your dad… And they’re working together?!”

“So, you also got a new stepmom?” Pidge smirks. 

“Not funny, Pidge,” Hunk sighs. “This is serious. Why can’t they just get out of there together?” 

“After they managed to gather some intel and send it out, it looks like they got separated,” Keith explains. “Krolia got reassigned elsewhere by Imperial command.”

“But still within the same quadrant,” Shiro adds. 

“Do you think they found out about them?” Hunk asks.

Keith shakes his head. 

“How long have you known about this, Shiro?” Lance asks incredulously.

“This morning,” Shiro says. “When I got in, Thace told me.”

“Holy crow.”

“But then how did you know how to get that information? Did it come in a file?” Allura asks. 

Keith nods, “Yeah. When Lotor and I went _gallivanting_ we went to a transportation hub, got the intel, got sideswiped by Sendak and Haggar – who, by the way, is going by Honerva again – and then got home safe and sound.”

“But how did you know where to look?” Allura asks again.

“I overheard Kolivan and my parents talking. They were trying to get clearance for the mission, to get the intel that Krolia had hidden,” Keith says, wincing. “I may have jumped the gun and roped Lotor along with me.”

“You bad boy,” Pidge teases. 

“Well, hey, at least you got that intel,” Hunk sighs. 

“But at what cost?” Allura mutters. “Sendak has been closer to us than ever before.”

“Even more than when we were on Arus?” Lance asks. 

Allura nods. 

“Well, we know one thing at least—”

“You mean besides the fact that we’re narrowing down on the druids?” Pidge supplies. 

Keith nods. “Honerva is back and there’s friction between her and Sendak.”

“Are you sure?” Umaala asks suddenly. “How do you know?”

“Their interactions were stilted,” Keith explains. “She was assigned to accompany Sendak, but she mentioned that Sendak was supposed to listen to her commands. However, every time she tried to order him, he just went on and had his own agenda. I think he was trying to goad Lotor into revealing himself.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye on her,” Allura says. 

“Ezor is there,” Keith says, “but she might not be able to report to us since her cover is now blown.”

“I’ll think about what we’ll have to do.”

“Well, we should go,” Umaala says, “before the Trials begin and Kolivan blows a fuse because I’m not there to help.”

\--

Lotor’s Trial takes five vargas, a much shorter time than Keith’s did. He had managed to activate the blade they had given to him within the first hour. The short blade transfigured into a broadsword, burning purple-white in his hands as he wielded it with precision. He had cut down three Blades with one hit as he had somersaulted through the air. 

“Show off,” Pidge mutters under her breath. Larka stifles a laugh behind her hand when Kolivan cuts his gaze to them. Yet by the time Lotor is finished, he’s limping badly and there is a darkening bruise across his lavender forehead. He passes and is quickly taken to the infirmary. 

“Have him put in a sleeping pod for the night,” Kolivan orders a masked Blade at the doorway. “Have him heal in that.” The Blade nods as he is dismissed to see that the orders are followed.

Zethrid takes much longer. Despite her strong and tall body, she is heavy and it makes her slower as the vargas tick by. “The pain will continue,” Antok says, repeating the words over and over again. The phrase echoing in the large chamber of the arena. “If she fails we cannot keep her here or on Gal,” Kolivan remarks idly. 

Keith can tell that something is holding Zethrid back. The illusion finally appears and it makes her quake, falling to her knees in grim defeat. “Do you give up, traitor?” asks a large, muscular Galra woman with furred ears. She’s wearing an Imperial commander’s uniform, chipped around the gauntlets. “You’re weak. Always so weak like your father.” The woman continues with a cruel sneer on her face. Everyone in the control room is quiet, even those down in the arena are silent. 

He’s never seen this side of Zethrid, a whimpering kit that is fearful of the raised hand above her. Zethrid is mouthing something, but Keith can’t hear it. 

“I-is that her mom?” Lance stutters. “That’s so—”

“Fucking mean,” Pidge grits out, helplessly trying to find a word for the scene before them.

“She’s failing,” Kolivan says dryly. “Pull her out.”

“Give her a chance, Kolivan,” Larka says. “You’ve given failures a chance before.”

“Larka, she’s about to crumble,” he says, pointing down into the arena. 

“Let her finish this,” Keith’s mother remarks. “She hasn’t cried yet. Let her defeat her dam.”

“She can do it,” Keith adds, looking over at Kolivan. “I know she can.”

Kolivan reluctantly allows the match to continue, even while Zethrid’s illusion-mother berates her, raises her hand to her face, tugs on her ears until she’s squealing. 

“Who is in there?” Lotor asks from the doorway.

Kolivan looks over his shoulder. “I thought I told them to put you in a pod.”

“I was,” Lotor says, taking a drink of water from a canister in his hand. “You know it’s morning already.”

“She’s been in there long enough,” Kolivan says to Larka.

Lotor’s eyebrows furrow together as he squeezes between Hunk and Pidge. 

“She’s fighting that bitch,” Lotor says sourly. 

“You know her?” Allura asks. 

“I know of her,” Lotor replies. “Zethrid’s mother works in the upper echelon of Zarkon’s ranks. Disowned her when Zethrid joined me.”

A bright hot light erupts from the center of the arena. Keith shields his eyes as Zethrid, on the verge of tears, manages to activate the properties of her luxite blade. A polearm weapon, a glaive, rips apart the cruel vision in front of Zethrid. She’s defeated her, or at least the illusion of her mother. Zethrid collapses onto the ground, exhausted.

“Infirmary now,” Larka says to an attendant. “Get her there and put her in a horizontal pod. Stabilize her. I’ll be there to check on her after Acxa’s Trial.

“At once, Princess,” the attendant bows before leaving with another masked Blade.

Zethrid is gently placed onto a hovering gurney and taken from the arena. From the control room, Keith sees Umaala disable her mask and stare off as Zethrid leaves. Her expression a mix of worry and terror. Keith feels it too. What had Zethrid experienced at the hands of the Empire and its soldiers? Meeting Lotor must have answered any prayers she had made to the Ancients throughout her childhood.

“Larka, I’m going to go check on her,” Lotor says, moving towards the door. “Watch over, Acxa.”

Keith’s mother nods knowingly before turning back to the arena. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith watches as Kolivan stares at her. 

“What?” Larka asks in annoyance without looking at their leader.

A rare smile pulls at Kolivan’s lips. “Good call.”

Acxa’s Trial is similar to Lotor’s, but while it is short and only takes a few vargas to complete, she is bludgeoned and panting by the time she activates her blade. Blood coats her teeth like at her training simulation. Her illusion doesn’t last too long, almost as long as Lotor’s childhood dream of Zarkon and Honerva. This one is of Acxa’s childhood spent in a laboratory, laughing through hallways, playing with a blade that did not belong to her, crying for a woman who isn’t there. 

Keith’s chest aches at the stark similarities between them. She’s been searching for something for so long, serving other people without drawing much attention to herself. Trying to desperately find where she had belonged. He sees it now, every move she makes is poignant and certain, aimed to take out her target without repercussion but leaves her with an invisible traumatic scar. It’s only after she’s defeated that illusion of leaving that science base – “I’m going with Lotor and you can’t stop me.” – that she activates the blade’s properties. It transfigures into a scimitar-like blade not unlike his own.

She is panting by the end, weary and battle worn. Keith lets out a deep sigh that he didn’t know he had been holding. She passed and he is so relieved. 

\--

They leave headquarters the following evening. Ilun stays behind to write up a few reports for the Record concerning their training and the events of their Trials, while Umaala joins them aboard the Castleship. They’re halfway through their trip back to Gal when Allura and Thace has everyone gather on the bridge. 

Zethrid and Larka are the last to arrive after the woman took Zethrid aside when she had regained her health. It was quite evident to Keith that Zethrid needed some positive reinforcement from a motherly figure and Thace had ultimately volunteered his wife. It didn’t take much for Larka to agree. After they arrive on the bridge, Pidge even offers Zethrid to sit in her paladin console seat. If anything, seeing everyone’s vulnerabilities has broken through any reservations any of them had. They were all more alike than they were different, with complicated stories and difficult choices that made them turn into the people they are today.

“Lance,” Thace begins, “I was able to track down your brother from the information we gathered back on Earth.”

Lance’s eyes widen, he smiles. “What? Are you serious?” 

Thace nods, “I can patch us into Marco’s personal tablet. Hopefully, he can answer the call. I wanted to do this sooner, but I had to make sure that it could work.”

“We also wanted to make sure that you’re ready for something like this,” Coran adds. “No matter how brief our Earth mission was, it’s still likely that we’ll have to deal with them again seeing as all the routes lead back to the druids.”

Lance wrings his hands back and forth. Hunk places a large hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We’re all here with you, buddy.”

Lance nods, tossing an affectionate smile at Allura. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new chapter next week. Chapter twenty-five will be released on August 13!


	25. Quarry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season seven ruined me and it was amazing~

Lance is nervously shifting in his seat as the outbound communication line beeps idly on the projected screen in front of them. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Lance asks warily.

“We’re pretty far from Earth as it is,” Keith adds. Could the signal be jammed? Could the druids already be taking the extra precautions to keep the coalition out? Or did Zarkon already invade and had somehow managed to make sure Team Voltron was kept out of the loop? 

“That shouldn’t have anything to do with it,” Pidge says. “When we’re on Gal, we have no problem reaching Arus or the Balmera even though they’re star systems away.”

“Maybe he can’t pick up?” Hunk asks, shifting on his feet. 

“You’re all overthinking this,” Shiro says. “He might not be around right now.”

Lance’s eyes widen, head snapping in Shiro’s direction. “Like _around_ around, or like dead or…”

“Calm down, Lance,” Allura says, pressing her hand to his shoulder. “That’s not what Shiro means.”

“Yeah, maybe he’s just in the bathroom,” Pidge says. “You know, taking a—”

“Do you all ever shut up?” Lotor asks.

“No,” Ryou replies. “They never do.”

“Here,” Thace murmurs, typing something into Coran’s console. “Let’s try broadening the signal.”

“Did you narrow down the coordinates?” Larka asks.

“They’re still set to the Sonoran Desert,” Coran says. 

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Then shouldn’t he have picked up by now?”

“Maybe he’s out,” Hunk murmurs. 

“What if—” Keith starts, but he’s interrupted mid-question when the console finally clicks. Static erupts from the audio and the holo-screen briefly pixelates. The connection is instantaneous thanks to the Castle of Lion’s Altean technology.

“Holy crow, sorry,” a voice says from the ship’s audio receiver. “Luis stole my tablet and hid it. What do you—” The face on the screen is not unlike Lance’s in the way that siblings usually are. He looks tired, brown skin a bit ashy and stress-induced dark circles rim his eyes. His hair is a different length than Lance’s, growing wavier the longer it gets. 

Marco’s blue eyes widen as he stares at Lance. A wide smile suddenly bursts across his face and he’s laughing. “Lance! Lance?! Is that really you? Where are you?”

Lance smiles back, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Marco! Are you okay? How is everyone?”

“We could be better,” Marco says, still with a smile on his face. “We’re staying with the Garrett family right now. Things are a bit cramped, but—” Marco stops in his explanation to eye the rest of the bridge’s occupants. “Holy shit, Lance, are those aliens?! Where are you right now?!”

Keith winces. He’s never met Lance’s family, or even Hunk’s, but he knows this will be a culture shock for all of them. Realizing and knowing the world is bigger than just routine science missions to remote icy satellites. A long time has passed since the Kerberos mission.

Lance says something in Spanish and his brother’s eyes widen even more. Marco looks dumbfounded as Lance continues his explanation, only growing paler and paler by the minute. By the end of the long conversation, Marco is quiet and everyone is fidgeting. 

“So, let me get this straight. The five of you got kidnapped by a mechanical lion spaceship that took you to some Earth-like planet? Pidge and Keith are aliens? Shiro has a twin? You met some elf alien who is now your girlfriend? And there’s some war in space that you’ve gotten yourself into?”

“That’s kinda the gist,” Hunk nods hesitantly. “Yeah.”

Marco lets out a loud sigh, throwing himself back on his bed. There’s some jostling as he props himself back on his single pillow and shifts around his tablet.

“I know this is a lot to process, Marco,” Allura begins, “but there may be an attack made by the Galra.”

“The Garrison may not be able to defend Earth,” Shiro adds. “They might even help the invaders.”

“It’s not surprising,” Marco finally says. 

“What do you mean?” Keith asks. 

“You all are saying that you visited a while back – well not really a visit as much as a mission here – well after that happened, Mom got approached by some creeps in business suits from the Garrison. Some real _Men in Black_ shit. That’s why we’re living with Hunk’s family.”

“What do you mean?” Lance asks carefully.

“They started saying that the first time you went missing they had no idea where you went,” Marco explains. “They didn’t even act like you were kidnapped or anything, just that you were missing in action on some mission to the asteroid belt. Veronica thought it was bullshit. You updated her on all your work at the Garrison. She even thought it was weird that they sent you trainees to the asteroid belt. All that’s out there are some mining colonies and space labs. But… the same thing happened to Hunk’s family. They got a knock on their door too… after you came back.” 

“Saying what?”

“That you guys joined some space terrorist group,” Marco replies. “Said ever since you all went missing they were trying to find out everything about this terrorist organization. Wouldn’t tell us anything else. Veronica thought that was bullshit, too.”

Shiro scrubs a hand through his tuft of white hair. “So, you’re saying they were lying to you all?”

Marco nods. 

“It’s the druids doing,” Larka says. “They’ll try to cast doubt. If we go to Earth a second time so soon, it will be easier for the masses to think we’re the enemy and that the Galaxy Garrison is humanity’s savior. We should look at this cautiously.”

“Sounds like real tinfoil hat kind of stuff,” Marco comments.

“Nevertheless, it’s true,” Kolivan says. “The druids will manipulate, and they’ll do it easily. The best thing you can do is stay together until we formulate a plan we can implement. Assume that you are being watched at all times.”

Marco is quiet for a moment before speaking again. “What if… what if we create some sort of resistance here? If you’re saying that your coalition stretches across galaxies, why can’t we do that here? We’ll train people. Prepare for whatever invasion will come. We can’t just sit on our hands.”

Larka and Allura share a look. “That’s not a bad idea,” Larka mutters. 

“Agreed,” Allura says.

“Our resources—” Kolivan starts. 

“We don’t have to discuss it now,” Thace says. “Let’s talk to Tee-osh later, perhaps she can spare some troops.”

“And we just send them down?” Lance asks. “We can seriously do that?”

“Your brother is right, Lance,” Coran replies. “They need to be able to defend themselves if the Galra Empire try anything too brash. It will also put the druids on their toes, tell them that they’ve outstayed their welcome on Earth.”

“I’ll do it,” Umaala says, standing between Pidge and Acxa. “I could do it. I’m sure Regris would agree. We can form a group with whoever can join from the rebels. Help make Earth a refuge in that quadrant of space like Gal or Olkarion or the Balmera. Where ever this Sonoran Desert is… it will be ready to join the fight.”

~~

“I think I’ve found them,” Colleen says, swiveling around in her seat. Her hair is swept into a low chignon, a few tendrils slipping from the clasp behind her head.

“Them?” Larka asks, looking away from the microscope. 

“The druids,” Colleen says simply. She waves the Galra woman over, waiting patiently until Larka settles in to stand behind her before continuing. “I was looking through those files Krolia and Mick sent. It’s a huge area to cover, but then I thought that we could maybe match it against the other routes we’ve gathered from the times you and Thace were at Central Command and overlay it with the information Lotor provided us. A lot of it came up barren, _but_ there was one area,” Colleen pauses to click against one of the heavily shaded regions, “that trafficked in high levels of raw quintessence.”

“Like a depot?” Larka inquires, lifting an eyebrow. 

Colleen shakes her head. “More like a stronghold. A science and military installation. I’m sure if we could get close to it, you could probably get a read if… if any druids are within…”

Larka chews on the inside of her cheek. She knew this would be uncomfortable for Colleen and that’s why she had Thace work through Krolia’s intel. Wherever she was leading them to, Colleen’s husband would be at the end of the trail. 

She places her hand on Colleen’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I cannot imagine what you must be feeling,” she pauses. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle this?”

“If you and the others are going on this mission,” Colleen nods tersely, “so am I. If my children are doing it, so am I.”

The Galran princess smiles faintly. “You humans are very resilient. The universe doesn’t give you enough credit.”

“I need to see him,” Colleen says, turning to face Larka. “I need to ask him if it’s all true. T-there has to be a better explanation than just taking over Earth and...”

“We’ll find out,” Larka says, but just as she’s about to elaborate on Kolivan’s impending plans and how they’ll have to share this new piece of information with him, the laboratory doors slide open.

“You know the dinner party starts in a varga and neither of you are ready,” Allura says wearing the prettiest pale pink gown that falls to her calves. 

Larka groans. _The dinner party…_ When they had returned to Gal after speaking with Marco, Coran began the large ordeal of planning out a coalition dinner party in celebration of Kythel’s pregnancy and the three new additions to the Blade of Marmora’s ranks. Was it necessary? Unlikely. Would it boost morale after the last few tepid phoebs? Probably. Larka wasn’t willing to argue with Coran’s decision. 

“It’s more like a festival with all the people Coran’s managed to wrangle up,” Pidge says from behind Allura, dressed in her sparkling clean paladin armor. 

“Larka,” Allura begins, a strain in her voice, “please tell me you’re going to wear something other than your Marmora uniform.”

Being around Allura makes Larka feel more childish than she really is. Larka grins, pacing over to her before tugging on a lock of white hair curling towards Allura’s chin.

“I should chide you for not wearing your paladin armor,” Larka smiles, “but I am minding my own business. See how easy that is?”

Allura rolls her blue eyes while turning petulantly on her heel, Colleen and her daughter falling into step behind her. Larka casts one more look towards the console Colleen was sitting at before switching off the lights and following them.

~~

Keith squirms in his seat, fingers playing with the hem of his dark purple tunic. His thumb and forefinger picks at the burgundy embroidery. Shiro’s hand slips into Keith’s, pulling him away from idle nervousness.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know?” Shiro murmurs. “Why don’t you hang out with Lance and Hunk?”

“Too tired,” Keith smiles. “Rather just spend this time with you.”

Shiro returns his warm smile, fingers threading together with Keith’s. The Blade is content to just watch the festive celebration. Coran had enlisted the help of the colonists and refugees to turn the larger of the two city squares into an ornate outdoor gathering. Gauzy tents were set up along the perimeter of the square, floating lanterns glowed from the gossamer canopy, and people sat on silken cushions around low tables. Coran really went all out for this relaxed atmosphere of revelry. 

Two tables away Zethrid sat, boisterous as ever, with several other refugees. Laughter and mugs of alcohol were sloshed across the surface of the table as they gambled and arm-wrestled. Coran and Lance had broken out old board games and there was no doubt from the groans of the other players that Pidge and Matt had teamed up to beat everyone else. 

Keith nearly jumped when Acxa placed down a platter of drinks and a dish of syrupy sweet fruits in front of them.

“Sorry it took so long,” Acxa mutters. “Hunk went off with Shay, so it looks like everyone is scrambling for food until he comes back.” 

“There’s no rush,” Shiro says, grabbing one of the mugs. “You’re going to join us in our people-watching endeavor?”

Acxa rolls her eyes. “Better that then ending up plastered like Zethrid. I’m going to need help getting her home.”

Keith scoffs. “You and Papa can deal with that. I’m sleeping with Shiro in the Castleship. It’s going to be the only place quiet enough to get some rest.”

“Did you even meet anyone here yet?” Acxa asks. “Or have you been hiding the whole evening?”

“I’ve had to shake too many hands tonight and I think I’m entirely done,” Keith chuffs. “There’s no way I’m getting up again. Plus, I’m sure Lotor can handle it with Allura and Mom.”

“How bad has it been?” Acxa winces.

“I think Ozar started off the evening by announcing Keith as _the heir apparent Prince Kythel, son of Princess Larka, and representing the Blade of Marmora_ ,” Shiro chuckles. 

Acxa breaks out into a soft laughter. 

“That wasn’t how he said it,” Keith groans.

“Obviously, I’m paraphrasing,” Shiro retorts.

“Obviously. I’m sure half the galaxy now knows I’m pregnant, thanks to Coran,” Keith remarks before taking a hasty sip of his pulpy juice. 

“Well, he did say that he wants people to know that we’re having a kid,” Shiro adds. “Let him have this. Allura and Lotor are probably the last people he saw as babies.”

Keith sighs. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a green alien with a coiled tail heading his way. He silently sinks farther into the cushion as if he’ll fall through the ground and be swallowed up by Gal. Keith jolts when two hands pounce on his shoulders. 

“Boo!” Pidge squeals.

“Pidge,” Shiro chides.

“Does Keith need his feet rubbed?” she asks coyly. “I just beat Coran and your mother out of hundred GAC, so I’m going to take a break. Now is the perfect opportunity—”

“No, Pidge,” Keith says, trying to keep from laughing. “I don’t need my feet rubbed.” But in all honesty, he probably really does need his feet rubbed.

Pidge groans as if he’s taking away all her fun. “Well, you should know we’re planning your baby shower. You’ll be swimming in gifts with the way Coran’s showing off. _Human-Galtean supersoldier baby. What a union!_ ”

“You are both ridiculous,” Acxa smirks.

“Not as ridiculous as Lance,” Pidge counters. “He’s the one planning the baby shower.”

Keith sinks in deeper as the green alien gets closer and closer, filtering through the crowd with a small smile on his face as he greets others. 

“Incoming,” Acxa murmurs around a spoonful of dessert just as Pidge dunks her fingers into the bowl to fish out a succulent red fruit. “Another diplomat.”

“I know,” Keith murmurs. 

Shiro’s hand still interlaced with his, clenches down in support. “You’ll be fine. One more of these and we’ll turn in.”

There’s something strange about the diplomat as he approaches their table. The silver hair on his head is shaved close to his scalp, his eyes opaque with cataracts. His green skin is smooth with only pink tribal sigils tattooed on his face and neck in some elaborate pattern that surely makes sense in his culture. He’s swathed in a decorative dark blue cloak, heavy despite the humid evening. But what sends chills down Keith’s spine is the three rows of sharp teeth in his mouth. Every time he smiles, he flashes those razors and earns reluctant smiles back. 

“Prince Kythel,” the diplomat croaks, raspy. 

Keith would offer him a drink if there were extra, but he begins to doubt that the diplomat’s throat is dry as he casts a furtive look at Keith’s companions. Saliva glistens at the corners of his thin lips.

“Paladin Takashi, Lady Katie,” he pauses, gaze running down Acxa’s lithe figure, “Princess Acxa.”

Keith doesn’t know why a snarl is threatening to crawl through his chest and up his throat, but it’s instinctive. Even Shiro and Acxa are already going for their weapons, but the diplomat puts up his hands in surrender.

“I apologize, I am only assuming titles. I beg for your forgiveness,” the diplomat spouts flippantly. “My name is Rerk. I am a leader of a small refugee encampment out in the Javeeno star system.”

 _Javeeno star system,_ Keith thinks. _…the only encampment there is the Balmera._

“I only wanted to attend when I received Lord Coran’s invitation after I knew that one of the princes were going to be here,” Rerk continues, as if this is the most average conversation he’s ever had. “I only wanted to ask you a few questions, about Gal’s future—”

“You have ten ticks to tell me why there’s a druid in coalition territory before I make an announcement to have you arrested,” Keith murmurs quietly. 

“Your mother would not be pleased with that turn of events,” Rerk bemoans, tilting his head to the side. 

Keith follows in the direction to see his mother with Allura and Lotor, laughing at something Ozar is saying. She looks calm, they all do. Keith swallows. He can handle this. And he has Shiro, Pidge, and Acxa waiting in the wings to smash this guy’s head in.

“I’m not a druid, if it eases you to know,” the diplomat continues.

Narrowing his eyes, Keith scrutinizing Rerk. He doesn’t have the aura of one of Haggar’s more duplicitous agents. He just seems… creepy. Overly so. 

Rerk bares his three rows of teeth in a scandalizing grin. “I was only wondering about the goals of the Blade of Marmora after destroying Zarkon’s regime,” he pauses. “It is important that my people know what we’re up against before throwing our resources to one campaign—”

“We haven’t seen you at any coalition meetings,” Pidge remarks. “We wouldn’t want to take resources from a refugee encampment that can barely get by on their own.” Her words aren’t meant to sting, but it’s a pragmatic statement.

“And how long have you been able to stay alive in the Javeeno star system on limited fuel and supplies,” Shiro adds, “let alone make the trip here?”

“We are not an abandoned zone,” Rerk explains briefly. “We make do with what we have.”

Uneasiness stirs in his belly. His eyes search out towards the other table and Keith is relieved when he locks eyes with Zethrid. She still appears to be in the haze of intoxication, but she’s watching them warily. Does she feel the strangeness of this situation? This diplomat appearing in the midst of a raucous celebration to ask questions about the Blade of Marmora…

And yet he says he’s not a druid, and perhaps that is true. Because surely Allura, Larka, and the other Blades who are in tune with the void would sense him out by now. At this point, he can either gear up and attack this man and hope Shiro and the others are with him or placate the situation before it spirals out of control.

“We hope to free the Galra who are subservient to Zarkon,” Keith says quickly.

“And what if they don’t want to be free?” Rerk spits, his lips widening to a disgusting grimace. “You assume that all Galra are like the Blades. They aren’t. They’re bloodthirsty, power-hungry, and warmongers. It is only natural for the Galra to crave battle and conquest.”

“We’ll show them a different option,” Keith retorts.

“Peace?” Rerk chuckles darkly. “When have the Galra ever known peace?”

Acxa stiffens by Keith’s side.

“You’re asking what our goals are,” Keith says sternly. “I’m telling you, Ambassador Rerk. We hope to offer a different path, offer them an alternative, free those who wish to be free of Zarkon’s tyranny. But most importantly, we wish to defeat this rogue faction of druids whose loyalties rest elsewhere.”

Rerk’s expression darkens, his scalp wrinkling as his brows rise. “A rogue faction of druids? Haggar’s druids?”

Keith says nothing. Rerk isn’t even privy to coalition meetings and Keith won’t divulge all their secrets. If this creature isn’t a druid, then he can spread the news that there is a faction of druids working against Zarkon and Haggar… which would eventually reach their ears. And if Rerk is one of Haggar’s, this piece of information will get to her even sooner. But there is the familiar fogginess of twin yellow moons coating over Rerk’s cloudy blue eyes. 

A shiver trickles down his spine again. They’re being watched from galaxies away. Something dark coils in his chest forcing him to push the envelope, slip his blade between Rerk’s ribs and straight into Honerva’s heart.

Does she think he’s this stupid?

“We also have another goal,” Keith starts, leaning forward in his seat. “One you can tell Empress Honerva yourself—” He hears the sharp inhale from his companions but continues. “—when you rush back to her side. We _will_ put my mother on the Galran throne and we _will_ make Allura the rightful queen of the Alteans by rebuilding Daibazaal and Altea on Gal. It will be difficult to recreate what was lost, but it will always be a safe haven to those who wish to remain here. There is nothing you can do against that wish.” 

Even with the buzz of frivolity going on around them, silence covers them like a thick blanket. The diplomat’s eyes narrow, head tilting back for only a moment to regard Keith down the length of his nose. Has he pushed Honerva too far? Has Shiro realized that this alien is innocent and only being used by a witch who sits in her chambers quadrants away?

“That is certainly ambitious, Prince Kythel,” the diplomat murmurs, disgruntled. “But I would expect no less from a descendant of Emperor Zarkon.”

Acxa unsheathes her blade with her left hand, about to spring across the table, when Zethrid and Ryou appear behind the green alien. They grab him by his shoulders, tugging him to his feet. 

“Time to leave, my friend,” Ryou says roughly.

Rerk shudders in their strong grips before sagging briefly. He shakes his head, clearing his mind of the frosty magical ribbons that tie him to Honerva. He tries to speak, head turning frantically as if he doesn’t know how he got there. Keith suspects he has no idea.

“Get him to a pod,” Shiro orders lowly. 

“What the hell was that?” Pidge says, leaning against the low table.

“Haggar,” Acxa confirms before Keith can say anything.

“She just sent someone here to spy on us?” Pidge asks, eyes wild. “We got to go tell Coran or—”

“No!” Keith says harshly. “Don’t say anything.”

“But—”

“If you say something to Coran or Kolivan, they’ll put our search for our dads on hold. They’ll start an investigation on how that guy got in here,” Keith murmurs. “We can deal with it later. Honerva may be prodding at our defenses, but we can’t fall into her traps anymore. Not with Ezor and Narti still on the inside.”

Shiro’s lips are pressed into a firm line, gaze following Ryou and Zethrid as they guide Rerk out of the city’s square.

“Plus,” Keith nods over to where Hazar is speaking to Thace and Larka in hushed tones, “it looks like we’re gonna see some action soon.”


	26. Excoriation Disorder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags. Things get progressively darker this chapter as will subsequent chapters, so bail out now lmao. I also seriously apologize for the length of this chapter. I was going to cut it in half, but there was no place that I thought it could flow like that so... oops, consume this long angsty spy drama.

Narti had contacted them that evening. Despite the ruddy cheeks of intoxication, the energy within the lounge is frantic, a wild energy that seeps into his pores and electrifies his bones. He’s been waiting months for this moment. A clear plan to find his dad and put a major druid outpost in a headlock. The excitement is tangible.

“This is the same druid outpost I discovered while I was going over the maps earlier today,” Colleen says, her own voice ripe with anticipation. Everyone has a goal for this mission, hers to find her husband and discover more about his dark secrets. Even Acxa has her own desires to find her mother. 

Despite all the frenetic planning that erupts after Hazar’s news, Keith keeps Haggar’s infiltration a secret. Even with Shiro’s earlier reservations, he along with Acxa and Pidge thankfully agree. It takes days to organize the teams that Tee-osh and Kolivan prepare: infiltration and intelligence gathering, search and rescue, air support and cover fire, the appropriate timing for Voltron to assemble while each of the paladins will be on their own specific missions.

“We will not be able to complete this entire mission with stealth alone,” Kolivan admits at a coalition meeting several quintants later. “We’re going into a densely populated Galra territory. We will have to depend on mobile teams. There are no optional ground teams that haven’t been assigned already.”

“The closest rebel base is several quadrants away from the druid outpost,” Tee-osh adds.

Two movements pass before the coalition gathers on the Balmera to refill on a reliable source of quintessence fuel. Another week passes before everyone has their set teams. Keith is sleeping beside Shiro when the glow of his tablet twinkles on. He haphazardly grabs it, swiping his finger against the screen. His eyes widen.

“What is it?” Shiro asks, robotic Galra hand pressed protectively over Keith’s belly.

“Kolivan is putting me on a team with mom and papa,” he mutters.

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “I thought he was going to stick you with me. It’s safer. You shouldn’t—” He pauses before letting out a soft sigh. “Do you want to be on that team?”

Keith hastily nods. “I just didn’t think they’d put me in the field like that.”

He doesn’t deny the sense of relief he feels at this choice. Kolivan is trusting him to perform a task he otherwise could have been barred from. 

“If this is what you want…” Shiro trails off. “I support you.”

Keith places the datapad back on the side table before twisting in Shiro’s arm. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

“I know you will.”

The next morning, Keith arrives in his parents’ house to see Acxa and his mother arguing. 

“I want to be on that mission,” Acxa says repetitively. 

“We don’t know if Krolia is there,” Larka says, running a hand through her ragged hair. “Kolivan has stationed you in the Blue Lion with Allura. That’s final. Don’t argue with him about it.” 

“You’re allowing Kythel to go in the field,” Acxa chuffs. “I want to go, too.”

“Acxa—” Larka doesn’t get to finish her statement before the younger hybrid turns on her heels and disappears into Lotor’s room. If she could slam the door, she probably would.

“Won’t Kolivan reconsider?” Lotor asks from his seat at the dining table beside Zethrid.

“No,” Larka says tersely before striding into her own room.

“What did I just walk into?” Keith asks mildly. 

Lotor looks over at Keith pointedly. _You know exactly what happened._

“Should someone go talk to her?” Keith asks, gesturing to the door Acxa disappeared behind.

Zethrid laughs. “Let her stew. She’ll get over it eventually.”

Acxa doesn’t get over it. Over the next few quintants, she isolates herself in Lotor’s room and refuses to leave. Zethrid ends up dragging her to training practice, hoping that sparring will force her from her stagnation. She ignores Larka when the woman comes to check up on her and flat out refuses to accompany anyone to the coalition summits. 

“We’re discussing the possibility of having a hearing with Iverson and Drak,” Keith says three days before the mission. 

Acxa chuffs, spork spearing her food before twirling through her cold noodles. 

“Is Kolivan and Larka going to allow us to attend _that_?” she asks sarcastically.

“If you would have showed up,” Keith pauses, “you would have known.”

Acxa chuffs again, shoving her plate aside. “I can do it. Why won’t Kolivan allow me to go?”

“Kolivan has a reason for everything,” he replies. “They probably want smaller teams. You’ll be safer with Allura.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been fighting just as long as you have… before we even met. I’m a Blade now, like you.”

“They trust you, Acxa,” he says softly. “Don’t doubt that.”

Acxa thumbs at the spork she holds tightly between her fingers. She’s quiet, too quiet, and Keith struggles to make some connection with her. It’s taken Kolivan this long to entrust these types of missions to Keith. He’ll probably do the same with Acxa.

“Narti contacted Hazar again,” Keith adds. “I don’t think she’s meeting with us, but she has been keeping an eye on the outpost.”

“What about the probes that Pidge and Matt sent in?” she asks, gnashing her carnassial teeth together. Early that week, Pidge and Matt and a team of engineers sent in a group of probes to monitor the sector of space occupied by the rogue druids in preparation for the mission.

“They lost contact a few vargas ago,” Keith explains. “Ranveig’s troops are patrolling the area. We don’t know if they’ll contact their main warship, but Kolivan wants us to assume that they know we’re coming.”

“I don’t like this,” she murmurs. “This is too risky. We don’t have enough mapping images of that region. It’s crawling with soldiers and this isn’t a stealth assignment.”

“We have to assume that they’re expecting us,” Keith repeats, hand tentatively reaching forward. Instead he pulls away and stands. “I’m meeting Shiro at noon before the Castleship leaves. Please be on it with Lotor and Zethrid before it launches.”

Acxa shrugs her shoulders before turning back to her late breakfast.

\--

It’s raining the day of the mission. Gray clouds coat across the skies of the city-state capitol. Cold rain pours down despite the late summer heat. Perfect weather to catch an illness in. Keith wakes up before dawn, busying himself in the bathroom. He dresses in his Marmora uniform, the suit stretched tight against his frame. 

His parents quietly make breakfast, serving him two glasses of some protein-enhanced juice with his meal. He hopes that Team Voltron and those accompanying them make it to the rebel’s rendezvous point safely. Ryou and Coran’s co-piloting has gotten better in recent weeks. All the people aboard the Castle of Lions are in safe hands. A light knocking on the front door breaks him out of his morning reverie. 

Thace hurries to answer it and returns with Antok shuffling in behind him. Larka rises to her feet, an eyebrow raised in question. “What’s going on?”

“Slight change of plans,” Antok grunts. “Kolivan wants me to accompany the three of you.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” Thace says, folding his arms across his broad chest. “But why?”

“You have the line of succession in your ship, Thace,” Antok admits. “And there’s a fifty percent chance that one of them will go off on their own.”

Thace raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fair point.”

Larka rolls her eyes. “It’s a simple enough task. Land on the outpost, head to the prison, get Mick.”

Keith clenches his jaw. But it isn’t that simple. They may be surrounded by more enemies than allies, and the druids will know exactly why they’re showing up there. It won’t be because they all want to join forces to unseat Zarkon. Yet that is only what their small group of four and baby-on-board would be up against. Most of the accompanying coalition would be assaulting Ranveig’s ships while Team Voltron infiltrates the same base to get to Holt. _That_ , in particular, would be unknown territory. Narti had no clue if the druid faction leader was still at the outpost and Krolia had not reported in for almost a phoeb.

Antok rolls his shoulders in mild agitation. “Don’t argue with me on this, Larka. I’m coming with you.”

Keith furrows his brows together. Antok and Larka used to be field partners before they both began working at Marmora headquarters. Then Larka became a quasi-political leader and Antok had to sit out for a deca-phoeb after being wounded in battle. It had taken so long for him to recover that he began training recruits instead. 

Larka reluctantly nods before heading back into her bedroom to retrieve the various bags she had prepared the evening before: additional utility belts and weaponry, emergency medical equipment in case Mick was malnourished and wounded, food and water rations. It was like his mother had made a portable nest, fidgeting restlessly and anticipating something to go wrong at any minute. 

They leave a varga later. Despite the rain, the city is bustling and energetic as ever. Refugees and Gal citizens have already prepared the hospital clinic and gymnasium for the possible wounded. A team of coalition rebels stationed on the planet wait for any impending attack from Sendak or Zarkon since many of the Blades will be making the journey to help fight the rogue druid faction. Aboard the shuttle, Keith sits beside his father as a copilot while Antok and his mother double and triple check the bags. While setting the destination in the navigation console, Keith’s gaze flickers back to them. He catches them whispering to each other. Antok suddenly looks up at him and Keith knows that he’s the subject of their conversation.

Keith sits back in his seat. 

“Relax,” Thace murmurs. 

“I am relaxed,” he says gruffly.

“You can cut the tension in this cabin with a knife,” Thace chuffs. “Relax.”

The Galran prince takes a deep breath, his hands still clenched on the navigation controls. 

“It will be fine,” Thace says, smiling faintly. “We’ll find your dad and we’ll come home.” 

Keith glances over at Thace awkwardly. Did Thace feel anything strange about rescuing the man who raised Keith? Every dream, every fantastical daydream he’s had for the past several months revolved around his fathers getting along, living together, raising him together. But would the reality be different? Would their dynamic be stilted and cumbersome? Too many large bodies in a small kitchen. Walking on eggshells around each other until someone snaps. Keith’s hands grow clammy just thinking about it.

“Are you okay with this?” Keith asks delicately. “I mean… bringing him to—”

“Mick raised you,” Thace interrupts abruptly. “I’m grateful for that. He’s your father, too. We’ll make this work.”

Keith’s eyes sting and he hastily wipes at them. _Fucking hormones_ , he thinks as he grits his teeth. “You’re too good for any of us. We don’t deserve you.”

Thace lets out a bark of laughter. “I’ve dealt with your mother’s moodiness for centuries and I love her unconditionally,” he pauses. “Our marriage has been difficult over the years, but we made it work. We’ll make this work too, Kythel.” Thace pats Keith’s hand before tapping away at one of the holo-screens. “ETA, forty-two doboshes. Switch us to stealth, son.”

It’s quiet out here, all by their lonesome. Passing gas planets and cold rocks. The closer they get to the quadrant, the more they see the stray unmarked coalition ships, the few that are invisible to the naked eye but show up on their radar as ally ships. There’s another dark gaping maw of silence before they steadily approach the unknown territory. It takes Keith back to Central Command, a buzzing epicenter of an empire.

Rotating fortress-like space stations, transportation lines slowly moving gargantuan freighters, colonies built on foreign soil that stretch across the quadrant. Military squads maneuver through deep space, running drills and patrols between the stations and colonies. 

If it wasn’t for their invisibility and sensor disruption tech, they would have been spotted as soon as they entered the quadrant.

“We’re approaching the base,” Thace murmurs. 

Larka and Antok head to the cockpit, hanging behind the pilot seats to watch the broiling planet below. 

“Holy crow,” Keith curses. “What the hell is that?”

The base is startling, a black rock with deep grooves of vibrant red coiled like snakes across the surface. Flickers of flames erupt from subterranean chasms, painting the planet in a strange whorl of sunset orange. In an enormous caldera sits a circular structure. The building is tall, stretching out from the hole like an archaic gray obelisk. Obsidian gravel encrusts the base of the structure, embedding itself deep into the ground.

“Did we have any intel on this planet from what was gathered by Krolia?” Antok asks. 

“Nothing,” Larka murmurs. “Absolutely no explanation on why this planet is on fire.”

“How are we gonna get into that place?” Keith asks, peering down as they enter the heated atmosphere. 

The proximity alarm begins blaring as the exterior hull overheats.

“I think we have bigger problems to worry about,” Thace mutters, hand drifting over the console as he scrolls through the ship’s auxiliary power.

Keith’s eyes widen. “Why are you shutting down the stealth control?”

“If I don’t take it off now,” Thace murmurs, “the ship will malfunction and they’ll spot us. At least this way we can preemptively adjust ourselves. Larka, Antok, buckle up. This is going to be a rough landing.”

Gripping the armrests of his pilot seat, Keith whips his head around to watch as Antok and his mother scramble for their seats. The ship jolts as it enters the lower atmosphere, the radar screen flickering as the alarms continue to blare. It’s a bumpy landing as Thace flies the ship towards a small valley hidden within a clean crack of dark soil. The hull of the shuttle scrapes against the rocky incline before cruising to an unexpected halt against the serrated sides of the slope.

“I’m going to kill Krolia and Narti,” Larka hisses from her seat.

“We’re still alive,” Thace replies, laughing under his breath. 

“This could have been entirely avoided if they’d mention we would be landing on a cosmic volcano,” she curses.

“Kythel, you alright?” Antok asks.

Keith nods hastily. “Next time, let me fly.” 

“Well, I hope you’re ready for a walk,” Thace admits. “I landed us as close as I could manage without attracting too much attention.”

“We should get moving,” Larka says, unbuckling herself and checking her utility belt. “Hopefully they’ll just think we were some debris.”

Keith checks in with Coran as they trek their way over to a set of rocks. He reports about the planet while Coran hysterically gasps over the communication link. When he closes the line, Antok and Larka have their own holo-screen wrist devices pulled up. 

“We don’t have a map to the prison,” Thace says. “The moment we get in, we need to plug into a console and get the layout of this base.”

“How are we getting in?” Keith asks.

Antok points over to a ledge beside a worn ramp used by hovering vehicles. “We’ll cut through that panel over there, head through that air duct system and hopefully make it to the ground floor.”

“Are we engaging with the enemy?”

“Yes,” Larka says before taking point. 

Keith shares a look with his father, despite the Marmora masks covering their face. 

“Watch your mother’s back,” Thace murmurs. Keith nods, following his father. Antok trails behind, blade already withdrawn from its sheath behind his back. His tail scrapes idly at the ground, covering their tracks from any wandering Imperial patrols.

Plumes of hot gas and pumice sporadically burst into the air of the volcanic planet. Antok grabs Keith around the waist, pulling him to safety as a glowing groove of red cracks open beneath their feet. Lava spills across the obsidian surface, flaming towards them. They must backtrack a few times, taking a longer path to the circular building. A patrol delays them further when a vehicle brings a load of quintessence to the airfield a few miles away. The patrols movements are panicky, like they were given orders that differed from their usual timetables. They act disjointed, on high alert, like they haven’t seen action for months and they just received orders that Voltron was on the move.

The team finally gets to the ramp. Thace and Antok stay on watch while Keith and Larka hurry to open the air duct panel.

“Won’t Pidge, Matt, and their mom have to get in here?” Keith asks softly.

“We’ll leave it cracked for them,” Larka explains. “Once we get hooked to a console, I’ll send the schematics to Colleen.” 

He nods, following her as she finally wedges open the metal plate and slips into the air duct. It’s a tight fit and crawling through the narrowing tunnel makes him feel claustrophobic. A sudden gust of hot air percolates through the air duct. The filtration system sounds off, shutting down completely. Finally, the four of them make it through to the end, a narrow gap of light illuminating the corridor beyond. It takes longer for Larka to get this panel open, especially when the guards keeping patrolling the hall. Keith has timed it to every six doboshes. 

The inside of the base is just like the outside, plain gray and encrusted with obsidian. The corridors are awash with green sub-lights. It’s brighter than Central Command, the architecture almost reminiscent of the Castle of Lions with its high cathedral ceilings and polished brilliant surfaces and curved lines. Far different than the Galra’s harsh edges and jagged construction. Whatever Altean influence that is at this base is no doubt coming from the corrupted Altean druids.

“I don’t want to stay here too long,” Larka murmurs darkly. “Let’s find a console before the sentries come back.”

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks as they stick to the shadowed alcoves.

“We’re in a druid base,” his mother replies simply. “I don’t like it.”

He almost has half a mind to tell her about Honerva’s infiltration, how her mother doesn’t know what is going on and is just as surprised by this rogue faction as they are. _Not yet._

Antok is the first to find a console. It’s occupied by a lone sentry who taps at the screen. Thace clears the area before stealthy stalking towards it. He unsheathes his blade, stabbing through the sentry’s neck. Sparks spit through the air. Thace withdraws his blade, the robotic soldier dropping to the floor in a heap of metal. Larka nudges Thace away to press her hand against the console, the technology reading her Galra genes and giving her immediate access. However, it takes her a while to remotely hook her wrist device to the console. She wordlessly finds the schematics of the ship and sends them to Colleen before searching for the prison of the base.

“It’s six floors beneath us,” Larka murmurs. “There is an emergency lift that would take us straight there, but it’s in the east wing…”

“Which is?” Thace prompts.

“On the opposite side of this wall,” she murmurs. “It would take us a while to get there.”

“What about another route?” Keith asks, excitement bleeding into his voice. He’s so close… so close to getting his dad back… so close to finding him this far from Earth. He’ll ransack this entire outpost to get to him before turning back now. 

Larka taps at the screen. “There’s an elevator closer to us. But it will only take us three floors down. We’ll have to go through a highly patrolled quintessence warehouse before getting to another elevator.”

“Make up your minds fast,” Antok whispers harshly. “Guards coming in one dobosh.”

“We’ll go through the east wing,” Thace says, grabbing at Larka’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Larka nods hastily, before tabbing down the screen. “There’s a laboratory down the hall with an air duct straight through to the east wing. It will dump us a few corridors away from the emergency lift.”

Before leaving the console, Antok and Thace move the sentry’s chassis to a dusty closet. They hurry down the hallway towards the laboratory. Larka plasters herself against the wall, hand outstretched to push Keith into a shadowed nook. Thace and Antok come to an abrupt halt when the door to the laboratory slides open and a troop of Galra soldiers emerge. 

“I want patrols doubled in the south wing,” orders the Galra leading the group. “Shut down the airfield until we know what is going on. I want the control tower on standby.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” one of the soldiers reply. “But with the evacuation commencing, the power will be shutting down. We were not supposed to be here for long.”

Keith holds his breath, waiting for her answer. She stops in her tracks, fists tightening at her sides. 

“Took you long enough,” the lieutenant mutters dryly.

“W-what?” the soldiers stutter in confusion before the lieutenant swivels around with her gun raised. She fires. For a tick, Keith thinks they’ve been caught. That one of them has been shot and this entire mission will go down in the Record as the biggest mistake. The first soldier drops, his forehead sizzling from the plasma energy burnt into his brain.

A coil of airy purple quintessence forms around Larka’s arm before striking out like a translucent lightning bolt, spearing two soldiers through the chest. By the time the remaining soldier realizes that he’s being betrayed by his commanding officer, it is much too late. The lieutenant already has her gun pressed to his forehead and is painting the walls with his brains. 

“You said absolutely nothing about this base being on some ball of fire,” Larka grimaces.

“Well Kolivan nor you decided to send some sort of message saying you’d be here,” the spy dressed in Imperial armor counters. “I’ve had to make sure I was on the scheduled patrol of this _ball of fire_ every quintant just so the timing was correct.”

“Is this Krolia?” Keith asks suddenly, eyeing the Blade with her two-toned hair and lively smile. 

Krolia’s face drops as their Marmora masks recede. “You let him come here?”

“Kolivan’s orders,” Thace murmurs.

“And you,” Krolia fixes her gaze back on Larka, gesturing at two of the dead soldiers. “You’re still using that filthy magic.”

“Not now, Krolia,” Larka bemoans. “We need to get Mick and leave.”

“We have all the time in the world, seeing as Voltron is locked in a battle between Ranveig’s men and the druids,” Krolia mutters, holstering her pistol.

Keith’s eyes widen. “What?”

“I just got this news a few doboshes ago,” Krolia explains. “I was going to send this team to oversee mobilization, but...”

Antok sighs, muttering something under his breath before attempting to move the bodies.

“Well, hello to you too, Antok,” Krolia smiles. “Leave the bodies. They already know the coalition is moving in.” The Blade starts down the hall with the rest of them following her. “I’m assuming you were heading to the east wing, but Malax has that blocked off. Solthro is initiating his own evacuation. We won’t have a lot of time before they get to the prisoner.”

“Malax and Solthro are both here?” Thace asks.

“Prisoner?” Keith murmurs. “It’s just Dad?”

Krolia nods. “They’ve been moving him around for the last few deca-phoebs, but they settled here once they decided to work with Ranveig. I haven’t been able to get in on all of his plans. Ranveig is a warlord in his own right, with commanders beneath him _and_ lieutenants beneath them.” They make it to an elevator and she calls it, punching a password into the keypad. “Ranveig still answers to Zarkon but he’s got his own little ecosystem going on here. I’ve managed to stay with Mick for a while.”

“I thought they transferred—”

“I’ve been back and forth,” Krolia brushes off Antok’s question. She gestures them on before typing another password into the internal keypad. “This will take us down to the sixth sub-level. This side of the base should be cleared of the administrative staff.”

“Can we get to Solthro?” Larka asks suddenly.

Krolia grits her teeth, casting a look over at Larka. “No.”

“You’re lying,” Larka murmurs. “We can get to them.”

“Did you hear me? Did I stutter?” Krolia murmurs. 

“We can provide back up to the green paladin and her mother,” Larka says. “If we can get there, we can provide the additional help.”

“We need to get Mick out of here before Malax grabs him and takes him who knows where,” Krolia argues. “We only have a narrow window.” 

Larka’s jaw sets and Keith thinks the two of them will have a fight, even Thace and Antok look a bit too tense. 

“Trust that the other paladins can help them,” Krolia sighs. 

The elevator finally jolts to sub-level six, the car pinging as the doors swipe open.

“What does Malax have on Mick?” Thace asks Krolia.

She leads them through the empty halls, the air stuffy as the circulation seems to have been cut back during the evacuation of the base. 

“I only know what he’s told me,” Krolia replies. “He had been trying to infiltrate their ranks back on Earth but was caught. He had valuable information that’s kept him alive.”

“What kind of valuable information?” Antok inquires.

“Whatever experiments they had stolen from the High Priestess. They have been trying to implement it into their faction,” Krolia answers. “I’m not sure how it has anything to do with Central Command and Mick doesn’t know either. But we don’t think Haggar is aware of what is going on in the farthest reaches of Zarkon’s empire.”

Keith’s chest clenches with the knowledge that this may indeed be true.

“From what Mick and I gathered, it seems to be based on some sort of soldier program,” Krolia continues. “He also knew a bit too much about the Blade of Marmora. I’m assuming that that is the information Larka shared about Keith and our people with him. I did my best to fill in the gaps. But out of everything I’ve gathered, I’m thinking the druids were trying to use him as a bargaining chip.”

“For what?” Larka asks warily.

“I’m not sure, but I think it was for access to you and Keith,” Krolia murmurs quietly. “If they aren’t working for Zarkon… who do you think they _want_ to work for?”

Keith’s eyebrows furrow. It’s a question that’s been spinning in his head. Who were the druids working for? Lotor? No… they had been using him for the quintessence line, right? Maybe Ranveig or Sendak? No… they were too much like Zarkon. Militaristic bellowing brutes who lacked diplomacy and a love for science unless it benefited them. 

Krolia leads them to a darkened area of the sub-level, the lights dimming as the auxiliary power kicks in. She breathes a sigh of relief when she punches another code in and the door slides open. His breath catches in his throat as he brushes past Krolia.

There – standing in the soft light of the cell – is Mick Kogane. His hands are tangled in his hair and he looks like he just stopped recklessly pacing. He turns around at the sound of their footsteps. Keith has waited months for this moment. Years. 

Mick's dark navy eyes widen, looking at him with slight confusion. He knows he looks different, but... “Keith?” His southern twang sounds shaky and foreign. It’s been so long since he’s heard that voice, smelled a fire pit…

Keith launches into Mick’s open embrace, his eyes burning as he feels warm arms envelop him. He’s tall, taller than he’s ever been before but he still manages to tuck his face into his dad’s neck. He blinks, lashes wet with tears. “Dad,” Keith whimpers, sounding much too childish for his age. 

“Keith,” Mick sighs, pulling his son in close yet shifting just far enough to kiss him on his sweaty temple. “You’re okay?”

Keith manages to nod, even while clutching to him.

“How long do we have until Malax comes down here?” Antok asks.

“I’m not sure,” Krolia replies.

“We’re going to have to get out of here,” Mick says softly, pulling away from Keith to appraise the others. “Larka. It's good to see you again. You got our message,” he nods in greeting.

She nods back. “Do you need any medical assistance? They look like they kept you well fed.”

“ _I_ kept him well fed,” Krolia says, sharing a warm smile with Mick.

Keith’s eyes widen. So, there’s something going on between the two of them?

“No, seriously,” Mick starts, “we’re going to have to get off this thing. It’s one gigantic active volcano just waiting to erupt.”

“That’s probably reason enough that they want to evacuate this base,” Thace adds. “We should do the same.”

“Kythel,” Antok murmurs, “report back to Coran. Tell him we’ve got Kogane and ask him about the green paladin’s whereabouts. If this place is going to blow soon, Team Voltron will need to know.”

Just as Keith is about to open his communication link to the Castle of Lions, a quake rushes through the base’s interior. Footing lost, they all tumble to the ground in a pile of long alien limbs. Larka scrambles over to Keith, a hand delicately pressed to his belly. 

“Are you alright, son?”

Keith nods, opening the link again. Once he does a stream of shouting comes through, much of it coming from Lance and Matt. 

“Pidge? Pidge?!” Keith shouts. “What’s going on?”

“Keith! Finally!” Pidge sounds angry, her voice shaky and irritated. “You all need to get out of there!” Another rumble causes them to stagger. “Ranveig! He’s attacking! Allura and Lance had to pull out of their fight. The Black Lion isn’t responding! W-we couldn’t form Voltron!”

Keith’s eyes grow wide. “What?! What’s going on? What about Shiro and Lotor?”

“They’re fine,” Pidge says, voice crackling over the audio feed. “Allura and Lance are towing them in.”

“What about Hunk?” 

“He’s laying down cover fire with the coalition shuttles,” Pidge pauses, a shrill whimper crawling up her throat. “But Keith, my dad! He’s evacuated!”

“Pidge—” 

“Keith! Shut up! Hazar is on his way for an extraction,” her voice breaks over the static. “—alax! He’s still here! He’s coming for you! You need to get—”

Keith shakily looks up at Thace.

“What happened?” 

“We need to go!” Keith says frantically. “We need to go now!”

It happens too fast for him to see. The curling dark wisps of an apparition. The squelch of a blade going through armor and someone’s chest. Purple-red blood and viscera splatters across his face. His tongue instinctively goes to his lips to taste the tartness. He gags, stomach roiling as another gush of blood strikes against his face. On shaky legs he stumbles back into Krolia and Mick, hands searching for something to grip onto. 

“I gave you an offer, Blades,” Malax speaks, his voice a harsh whisper across Keith’s ears. “Your lives free from druid interference, the safety of young Kythel… only for you to meddle and destroy my most precious projects. It is because of Solthro's weaknesses that we are left scrambling for safety. Lotor, a failure. Larka, a failure. Honerva, a—”

His mother is tugging at the blade against the small of his back, unsheathing it in a brilliant cascade of white light. She swings it into an arc, the blade catching against Malax’s exposed neck. Hot blood spurts against the cooling blood already streaming down his face. 

Antok’s blood. 

Keith unsteadily peers down at his feet where Antok lays, bleeding out as Thace struggles to put pressure on the multiple wounds. Deep punctures made with his own weapon. His chest. His abdomen. His right shoulder. He’s struggling to breathe, hands shaking at his sides.

A billow of curly white hair rounds the corner. Hazar, his own blade unsheathing from the scabbard across his back. What a scene they must make. Keith hears the gristle and bone as Larka thwacks away at Malax’s neck, severing his head from the rest of his body. Blood is splattered everywhere, warm and sluicing across the floor like lava… or is the base cracking? It’s buckling, tearing at the seams, flames licking into the sixth sub-level. Lava mixing with blood as the cell overheats. Hazar helps Thace with Antok. Krolia is pushing Keith into Mick’s arms, forcing them away from the erupting volcano. 

“We need to go,” Krolia murmurs, tugging Larka to her feet, tugging and tugging as the other woman wails. “We need to go, Larka. We need to go.”

\--

What happens next causes excruciating pain to lance up his chest. Shock has made him immobile. He’s seated against Pidge’s pilot chair on the bridge of the Castleship. Ryou is trying to hastily wipe Keith’s face clean of the blood. Coran is barking orders at Hunk. Allura and Lance are still struggling to tow in Black. 

Keith doesn’t want to hear the current list of casualties, but the numbers keep tripling as Dorma makes her tallies and reports them back to Gal. Beds. They need more beds. 

“Keith?” Ryou nudges his face. “Head down to medical.”

Keith shakes his head. “Mom is—”

“Mama is fine,” Ryou says. “You need—”

“I’ll take him,” Colleen says sternly. “Katie, come with me.”

Pidge’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes red from crying. Her hair frazzled from the heat on that druid outpost. Sickle-shaped green markings rest on her cheekbones like fresh tattoos. While Keith feels himself shutting down, Pidge is lashing out. She’s tumultuous, knocking into people, bulldozing through everyone walking in and out of the bridge. Faceless rebels that only make her angrier. Keith lets Colleen lead him to the infirmary, but it’s crowded. Too crowded. People are dying. He can still here his mom’s mournful wailing.

~~

“We’re lucky,” Krolia says, taking a somber sip from her glass. “You found your boy. We’ve reclaimed Gal. Those druids have taken a major loss.”

“We’ve just lost Antok. Dorma and Ulaz are still counting the dead. Even more are wounded,” Larka murmurs under her breath. “Do you really want to do this now?”

“How many others are in the field?” Krolia asks.

“A handful,” Larka grimaces. “Kolivan refuses to call them in, but he will now.”

“Sounds like business as usual for my brother,” Krolia quips.

Larka doesn’t smile.

“Hey,” Krolia remarks, placing a hand on Larka’s knee. “I’m sorry. I know Antok and you were close. You served as field partners back in the day. He followed you everywhere. Didn’t matter what battlefield or espionage mission.”

“It’s our first major fatality in a while,” Larka says, gritting her teeth. “We’ve become too lax, too complacent, too dependent on Voltron and the other rebels. We’ve been winning skirmishes left and right, and I was excited that we were. It wasn’t Kolivan’s judgement that was hapless. It was mine. I wanted to search for Mick Kogane. I followed the leads. The fault is mine.”

“If you hadn’t gone through with the mission, I would still be taking care of that troublesome human,” Krolia grins. “He really likes to argue with the guards.”

“How many fights has he gotten into?” Larka’s lips lift.

“Too many to count,” Krolia admits. “But the druids needed him. You know he’s obsessed with proving that he can be a capable Blade. With or without a weapon.”

“I tried to talk him out of it once,” Larka says. “It didn’t work.”

“Well, don’t worry too much about it,” Krolia drawls. “I’m glad you and Kolivan let me stay in the field. I would have never met Texas boy if it wasn’t for my transfer.”

Larka rolls her eyes. “Be sure to put your sexual escapades in the Record. I’m sure future generations would love to read about them.”

Krolia pours another glass of the blue sweetened alcohol, swirling it around in the cup. “Well, let him spend time with Keith for a while. He needs it after being a prisoner for so long. He loves the boy, you know that? Didn’t stop talking about him once. He didn’t want to leave him.”

“Of course he loves him,” Larka says. “He is Kythel’s dad. Thace and I were gone from his life. He had no idea we existed, but Mick raised him. I’d never try to break that bond.”

Something in her conviction must move Krolia because the Blade cracks a smile. “Good.” She takes another gulp of her drink. “Dorma filled me in on Allura’s plans.”

“Please…” Larka groans. “Can we just mourn in silence?”

“No,” Krolia shakes her head.

“Why not?”

“Because Antok would still want us to work, you idiot,” Krolia mutters, leaning back in her seat. “I think you should do it.”

“Do what?” Larka asks, annoyed.

“Do the whole Kral Zera nonsense,” Krolia drawls. “Honestly, I think your first action as Empress should be abolishing all this traditional idiocy that the druids and priests cling to.”

“You’re a lunatic,” Larka mutters.

“No, _you_ are a lunatic if you don’t take this opportunity,” Krolia says angrily. “I didn’t join the Blades just because I was bored. I joined because I wanted to follow the path Kolivan and you started. You’re the one who wanted to build something on Gal when we lost our home. You’re the one who took responsibility for your parents’ mistakes. You’re the one who I follow.”

“Krolia… this isn’t something I want to do,” she admits.

“There will be a power vacuum if something permanent happens to Zarkon. We can’t stick to the shadows forever, Larka. Antok would want you to do this,” Krolia pauses, pursing her lips. “I may be trying to guilt trip you with that last one…”

Larka laughs breathlessly.

“…but my position still stands.”

The Galran princess scrubs at her forehead. It’s now or never. _Rip the bandage off. Come clean. Mourn together. Move forward. Vrepit sa._

“You know Allura hated me when she found out what I did,” she says. “Hiding the Blue Lion, lying to her, abandoning King Alfor in favor of my safety. That’s all I feel I do with all of you. Secrets on top of secrets. And then when it gets too much, I divulge them. Then the cycle repeats.”

“We’re an organization built on secrecy and trust,” Krolia recites. “We all knew what we were getting into. All of us.”

“Acxa is alive,” Larka blurts out.

The smile on Krolia’s face becomes strained and wiry, crumbling quickly at the revelation.

“What?”

“Lotor… he apparently found her on some stranded planet,” Larka explains. “She’s one of his generals.”

“W-when were you going to tell me this?” Krolia growls. “When I finally saw her again?”

“I’m telling you now before you see her,” Larka chuffs. “She doesn’t fully remember her time with us. She’s been with druids for most of her life. Who knows what mental torture they put her under before Lotor got his hands on her. But she hasn’t forgotten you. She was adamant about rescuing you.”

“C-can’t you go in there?” Krolia asks, standing up so violently that her chair flips backwards and one of the legs splinters. “Can’t you pull more of her memories to the surface? Before we were separated? Why would you keep this from me? From her?”

“Krolia, you just got back,” she says, breathing deeply. “We just pulled you out of that delusional pit of druids. You’ve seen what they can do, right? Since Lotor came out of hiding to provoke Voltron, she’s been on the opposite side of this war. We’ve had an increasingly difficult time even bringing them into the fold. Kolivan had made sure that she began training with us and passed her Trial, even when I wanted to behead Lotor.”

“Did you want to behead her, too?” Krolia sputters.

“Are you unhinged?!” Larka shouts back. “I wouldn’t behead your daughter!”

“Well, you’ve openly admitted to wanting to behead your brother. You even hacked that druid’s head clean off like some kind of animal,” Krolia yells. Larka grits her teeth, watching as she paces wildly with arms crossed over her chest. “That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have said that, but Ancients… Larka… how long have you had her here?”

“At least five phoebs,” Larka says. “Maybe six. She’s been living with Thace and I since we transferred her to Gal. I-I wasn’t just going to abandon your kit, Krolia. When I went to execute Lotor, I saw her. I changed my plans once Kythel got involved and shifted my focus to Zarkon. If I killed Lotor with Acxa and his other generals around, I don’t know if I could have swayed her. She’s loyal to him. Once we had them in custody, Kolivan gave them an ultimatum: start Blade training or stay imprisoned. Acxa was actually the one who persuaded Zethrid and Lotor.”

“Zethrid?” Krolia mutters. “Who is Zethrid?”

“One of her friends,” Larka says, standing. She quickly grabs at Krolia’s upper arms. “Listen… you’ve got her back now. You must do what I did with Kythel. Rebuild your relationship. Talk to her.”

There’s a twitch in Krolia’s jaw. “You are an insufferable brat. You know that, right?”

Larka smiles. “I know.”

“Get out of my face, Princess,” Krolia quips, pushing Larka away. She takes a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll be patient, if – and only if – you meet my conditions.”

Larka’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

“First, you truly consider Allura’s plan. It will be good for our people.”

Larka is about to say something when Krolia places her hand across Larka’s mouth.

“Shut up. I’m not finished yet,” she says before pulling her hand away. “Second, you and me, we are field partners now. We work together. No gallivanting on your own or dragging Ulaz and Dorma on some deep cover mission. No imprisoning yourself in your laboratory as self-flagellation. Thace gets to be a – what did he call it, oh yeah – a stay-at-home dad with Mick for a while. Keith will need the help.”

“Is there a third to this long list of requirements?” Larka inquires.

“I was getting to that,” Krolia continues. “ _And third_ , when you reclaim the Empire, I want Sendak’s position.”

“What?” Larka sputters. “I haven’t even agreed to the first term.”

“You’re going to need loyal people around you, Larka,” she retorts. “People who you trust and people who trust you. I’ve given my entire life to the Blade of Marmora. We’re more than revolutionists now. We’re a political ideology. Knowledge over victory. Camaraderie over individualism. That is what the Blade of Marmora is. That is what we all represent to the coalition. Galrans that the universe can depend on. Not some foreign invaders who have corrupted every quadrant of space.”

Krolia extends her arm. “Do you agree to the terms?”

Larka stares down at the limb, heart beating rapidly beneath her chest.

“Knowledge over victory? Camaraderie over individualism?” Larka repeats. “You’re back for two quintants and already reciting poetry at my doorstep.”

“Larka,” she chuffs. “I’m being serious for once.”

The older Blade takes a deep breath before clasping her hand around Krolia’s forearm in a soldier’s embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Frostmask who wrote that comment back in Chapter 12. You legit sent that comment two weeks after I wrote a big portion of this particular chapter. 500 GAC to you for unknowingly guessing the poly-blended family debut!


	27. Deliberate Restriction

In the days that follow the skirmish, the coalition is solemn. Grieving has become the standard action, even while people still attempt to move forward. This last battle had been the one to crack through the thin veneer between apprehension and duty. Every member of the coalition was fighting for something: family, freedom, a system that worked for everyone who struggled beneath Zarkon’s yoke. No one was willing to sit out now. 

They lose approximately three hundred coalition fighters, rebels who fought against Ranveig’s forces. Blades who were lost: one dead, twenty-six severely wounded. It’s a harsh blow to the coalition, one that the leadership had not been expecting. 

Despite the desire to mourn and the quintants of grieving, the soldiers straighten back up and begin preparations for the next fight. Keith sees this in the reaction of the Blades. They are back to training for grueling hours, back and forth between headquarters and Gal to report to the Record, meetings and meetings that even Keith and the younger members aren’t privy to. 

That decision may make him angry and irritable, but seeing his mother behead someone in front of him only made him realize the lengths the older generation is willing to go in order to reach success.

A life for a life. Antok would be sorely missed. 

Upon their return to Gal, Kolivan calls all Blades who are still in the field back into coalition territory. Hazar – streaked with blood and grime – went to the communication building to send out an emergency transmission. Any Blades in Zarkon’s regions would get the transmission and stealthy begin their voyage to headquarters before being transferred to one of the coalition outposts. The Blade of Marmora is past infiltration. No longer will they fight in the shadows and Kolivan makes sure everyone knows it.

“Can we come to the meeting?” Lotor asks as they trail behind Larka. 

She’s rushing through the corridor, heading to the meeting hall that is probably packed with Blades. Keith and Lotor hastily walk behind her, struggling to keep up. Has she always moved this fast?

“No,” she remarks tersely. 

“We should know what’s going on,” Lotor mutters. “Why are you keeping information from the rest of us?”

“I’m not keeping information from the rest of you,” Larka remarks, turning down the next corridor. The doorway at the end of the hall is open with coalition members coming in and out. It’s a beehive of activity, Blades buzzing around the facility. There are some who Keith doesn’t even recognize; the ones who were like Krolia, stationed far from headquarters for deca-phoebs. “We’re trying to gather as much information as we possibly can in a short amount of time. Once that is done, we’ll tell you all we know. We must work in groups. This isn’t some master plan to keep you in the dark. Trust me. I’ll tell you personally what is going on. For now head to the gymnasium. Ilun will be running drills soon.”

Keith nods diligently. Her explanation is enough for him. There’s too much chaos going on after the battle and Antok’s death at the hands of Malax. When she comes to him, he’ll then speak about Honerva. 

Apparently, the explanation is not enough for Lotor.

“I must admit something,” Lotor says quickly, words streaming from his mouth like a gushing geyser. “Father had me overseeing that base… deca-phoebs before Ranveig and the druids had taken it over.”

Larka stops mid-step, shoulders stiffening. She whips around, yellow eyes narrowed. “When were you going to tell me this?” 

Lotor keeps quiet, unsure of what to say.

The older woman takes a deep breath, regarding them both before turning back around. “Fine. Come with me.”

Lotor looks at Keith with a smile on his face before they both follow her into the room at the end of the hall. 

Many of the non-Blade coalition members are dropping off datapads and bags full of intel before brushing past them as they enter. 

“What are they doing?” Keith asks his mother.

“Tee-osh gathered more information when they breached Ranveig’s warship,” Larka explains, leading them over to the front of the room. “His goals. His objectives. His personal pet projects. We’re hoping to look through it all and find what matches up with Krolia and Josta’s intelligence.” She gestures to one of the Blades, a young Galran who stands between Krolia and Kolivan. 

“When did he arrive?” Keith inquires. 

“Late last night,” she murmurs. 

“What are they doing here?” Kolivan asks without looking up at Larka. 

Sighing loudly, Larka leans in to whisper something in his ear. Kolivan’s head snaps up, looking at Lotor with a severe glare.

“You didn’t think to tell us this before we initiated that mission?” Kolivan asks, words harsh against his tongue.

“It was before I became Emperor Pro Tem,” Lotor says, resigning to the anger directed towards him. “There are many commanders at the fringes of Zarkon’s empire who have what Ranveig has. How was I to know that they had taken my planetary outpost and placed the human on it.”

“Is there anything else you would like to get off your chest, Lotor,” Krolia grits out. “Do you know more about the druids’ plans than you’ve been telling us thus far?”

Lotor shrugs. “Only that they were using my quintessence supply line.”

Keith bites his tongue. _And why did you need a quintessence supply line in the first place?_ He looks at his mother, her facial expression stating that she doesn’t want him asking that question aloud. It’s like she’s reading his mind in that moment. Telepathy.

“Princess Larka,” the young Blade standing between Kolivan and Krolia speaks, placing his right fist over his heart and bowing at the waist. “I only wish I could have gotten my information to you all sooner rather than later.”

Larka gives Josta a tender smile. “You did well, brother,” she remarks fondly. “What matters is that you’re safe and you managed to get us this information while keeping yourself alive.”

“What else has been happening inside Ranveig’s forces?” Keith asks suddenly. 

Josta’s gaze flickers back and forth between Keith and Lotor, not knowing if he’s allowed to say what he knows. But Kolivan tilts his head in their direction, a motion that it is alright. 

“Prince Kythel, Prince Lotor,” Josta greets. “From what I’ve managed to discover – and Krolia has retold since her arrival quintants ago – is that Central Command is in a constant state of chaos. Ranveig has just latched on to that chaos and used it for his own gain. Tying himself to the druids has only helped him in his endeavor of creating monstrosities similar to that of the robeasts.”

“What do you mean by _Central Command is in a constant state of chaos_?” Lotor asks, tense.

Josta’s gaze flickers to Krolia. She nods, giving him affirmation to spill more secrets. 

“The Blade of Marmora may have become a resistant political faction, but we are not the only ones,” Josta says after taking a deep breath. “There are several political parties that have erupted in a desperate attempt to either gain control of the empire and displace Zarkon entirely or prove to Zarkon that they are worthy of being his successor.”

“Zarkon doesn’t care about the line of succession,” Lotor says pointedly. “He never has. I’ve come to terms with that, as have we all.”

“That is why I can determine with the utmost certainty that these factions are reacting like us Blades, as a willing party to displace Zarkon as leader and rule the empire in a way that they see fit,” Josta explains. “Sendak, although still working beneath Zarkon, has created his own faction called the Fire of Purification. Unlike us, he wishes to seize control as a military leader and use Zarkon as the figurehead. Then there is us, the Blade of Marmora, who wishes to put Princess Larka on the throne as the rightful heir. Another large group is Empress Honerva’s Druids of the Four Directions.”

“What?” Lotor gasps.

“I know,” Larka drawls. “She’s back at it again.”

“She’s causing an uprising against her own husband?” Keith asks harshly.

“Not so much of an uprising as much as she wishes that her faction of druids has more power within the empire,” Krolia says flippantly.

“But… the druids already have plenty of power,” Lotor remarks. “Zarkon depends on her for his technology.”

“Yes, well,” Josta starts, “we now know that the Druids of the Four Directions are in direct contrast to Solthro’s Imperial Alteans.”

“What?” Keith warbles.

“That is what he is calling his rogue druids,” Krolia admits. “Many of the Alteans who joined Haggar when she was creating the druids have sprung apart from her ideology, wishing to create their own faction. But we don't know the entire story.”

“Which leads us to our next problem,” Kolivan finally speaks up.

“And what’s that?” Keith asks. 

“We need to question Drak and Iverson,” he says. “They’ll know what the Imperial Alteans are truly planning and why they are in direct opposition to Zarkon and Honerva.”

“What we know is that there are still some who are vehemently loyal to Zarkon. Gnov, Throk, and even Ranveig,” Krolia lists off. “We also know that Warlord Ranveig was sent to the fringes of the Galra territory to lead the expanse. He’s not the only one, but he has a reasonable amount of power over every other warlord.”

“What about the others?” Larka asks.

“Commander Gnov is obviously still a trusted adviser of Zarkon ever since you left the council to oversee construction on Gal,” Krolia replies.

“That was centuries ago,” Lotor sputters.

“And her influence has only grown,” Krolia remarks. “If Sendak has replaced you as a son, think of Gnov as Larka’s replacement. They’re soldiers that Zarkon was able to rein in and control, unlike the two of you.”

“None of those soldiers would be able to help put Larka on the throne with the least amount of bloodshed,” Kolivan mutters. “What about Janka?”

“Quartermaster Janka?” Lotor asks.

“You know him?”

Lotor rolls his eyes. “He oversaw supply routes throughout the empire. He worked with me in creating alternative routes for my own purposes. He’s a wily and neurotic bureaucrat who color codes all his notations. If you wish to gain his allegiance, you will not get it. He has no loyalty and will grovel at anyone’s feet to get out of a violent altercation.”

Krolia turns to Kolivan. “I say we keep him on the list. If it comes to the worst, we take one of his ships and him hostage, and use the information he can provide us.”

“And then what?” Larka asks. “Kill him?”

Keith can see the twitch in Krolia’s jaw. “If it comes to that. Yes.”

“Wait,” Keith interrupts. “What was Ranveig doing so far out from Central Command? Overseeing an expansion movement?”

“That’s what it started out as,” Josta explains. “Many of Zarkon’s highest commanders have been reassigned to expansion missions. Even Sendak’s initial territory was a place that was unregulated by the Galra and that’s why he was stationed to oversee the Javeeno star system. It may have been closer to Central Command and even closer to Gal, but it had initially been a part of the expansion.”

“But it turned into something different once Janka got him his own supply route and Solthro provided him with quintessence,” Krolia adds.

“What do you mean?” Larka asks. 

“He was developing a super weapon based from Haggar’s experimentation with the robeasts and the knowledge that Mick had gathered prior to his imprisonment,” Krolia replies. “They’re developing a super soldier program.”

\--

A hearing would be planned in two quintants. It would give enough time for rebel leadership to head back to Gal to be in attendance. It was a necessity. Kolivan was adamant about finding out why the rogue druid faction – the Imperial Alteans – were working alongside Ranveig and to what end.

“A super soldier program?” Keith asks. “That’s why you went missing…”

He and Mick are pigging out on fluuto beans, some old mac and cheese Hunk made with fungi noodles the night before, and a fizzy drink that was imported from Arus. The snacks are spread across the coffee table, the holo-screen volume turned down low as they talk. 

“It’s not as if I found out a lot of information,” Mick admits, leaning his forearms on his knees. “I tried to gather as much as I could. It was my mistake thinking that I could get away with it. Malax was an evil man, sadistic and cruel, but he kept his word in allowing you to live your life without interference from the empire. He could have done worse. He could have sent word to Zarkon.”

“You did a good job,” Keith says. “And you made it out of there.”

Mick smiles, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezing. “You turned out alright, kid. I’m proud of you. But… why does your boyfriend have my clothes?”

Keith stifles a laugh. For the remainder of the day, he stays with his dad, catching up on everything they’ve missed out together. Telling him the story about how him and his friends ended up in space. Normalcy. It’s such a frail thing, but he’s managed to have this support system throughout it all. Mick doesn’t even bat an eye that his son is pregnant. Just asks to _feel the kid kick when they start up_. Around dinner time, Thace arrives home – weary from Blade meetings all day – only to playfully argue with Mick on who gets to be called grandpa and who is granddad. 

The door opens a second time, Acxa rushing into the house, irate as ever. She doesn’t even glance their way, only heads into Lotor’s room and closes the door behind her. 

“Rough day?” Mick asks, murmuring the question quietly. 

“Arguing with Krolia,” Thace replies.

Keith sighs loudly. “I’ll go check on her.” He rises to his feet and enters the room, not even bothering to knock. The door closes behind him soundlessly. 

Acxa lies face down on the bed, almost unresponsive. Her hair has grown out, just as his has, hanging loose against the pillow. Maybe he’ll ask Krolia to trim her hair. That will give them some time together, supervised by Keith. 

“What happened this time?” Keith asks, sitting gently by her side. He places a hand on the back of her head, slowly stroking the horns that are in a desperate need of a filing. They look cute growing out, curving slightly at the ends. Keith wonders what her biological sire looked like. How did Krolia and them meet? Where were they now? 

Acxa shrugs. “I’m tired. Leave me alone.” She doesn’t move his hand away, nor does she turn over. 

“Alright,” Keith says. “Then scoot over. I want to rest.” 

“No,” Acxa remarks stubbornly.

“You know Krolia and Mama settled on a new place. You can have your own room. Zethrid gets her own room. Lotor gets his own wing of the house to do who knows what,” Keith murmurs. 

“It’s for his laboratory,” Acxa explains. “He wants a separate unit.”

Keith sighs. “Well, we’ll all have our private spaces. Maybe… you can hang out with Krolia occasionally. You know.. and then when it gets too much, you can just disappear into your room for a few hours.”

“Why are you doing this?” Acxa asks, finally turning over. Her light blue hand grabs Keith’s lavender one and gently pushes it away. “You and Larka aren’t obligated to play peacemaker.” 

“True, but we want to,” Keith says. “We’re in the middle of a war. You and Krolia have found each other. Wouldn’t it be better to become closer than to lose each other like we lost Antok.”

Acxa stiffens. 

“You have to move past this in order to progress through your training and your relationship with her,” Keith says. “I have a lot of nerve saying this, but don’t act too stubborn.”

Acxa’s lips rise in a soft smirk. “You’re seriously insufferable.” 

“I know,” Keith grins.

\--

The next quintant, Shiro and Keith take the day off. Larka had scheduled a doctor’s appointment with Tolak on behalf of Keith. He’s a little over four months pregnant by Earth standards and although he is steadily showing, he has yet to feel the quickening. Has yet to feel a flutter. By Galran standards, he should have been able to feel them kick weeks ago. During some nights – tucked in tight beside Shiro – Keith fears the worst. But he quickly blots it from his mind, refuses to spiral deeper down that rabbit hole. 

Instead he repeats to himself that his child is of Earthling, Galra, and Altean descent. There are bound to be differences, an amalgamation of different milestones. At least he has Tolak to document this all for future generations. 

“I refuse to keep depending on public transportation,” Shiro murmurs as they get off the vehicle and head to the clinic down the street. “I’m getting us a hover car.”

Keith smiles over at him. “How domestic of you,” he jests. “Do you want a minivan?”

Shiro grins back at him as the sliding doors open. “You wish we had a minivan. Then we could pile our whole family in it.”

“We’d need something bigger than a minivan to pile them all in,” Keith laughs. “We’d need a train to fit them all.”

They find Tolak in his office, a machine set up in the corner and holographic tablets scattered across many worktables. 

“What are you doing in here?” Keith asks. 

Tolak chuffs. “Cubs having cubs with no respect for their elders,” the cantankerous old man prattles on. “Research. What do you think I’m doing, kit?”

Keith rolls his eyes, but Shiro pinches his side. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Keith murmurs. 

Tolak taps one of the beds near the machine and Keith hefts himself up to lie on his back. Shiro drags a stool over to sit beside him.

“Is this thing gonna work like the ones from Earth,” Keith asks. “Like an ultrasoun—?”

Tolak waves his hand to brush of Keith’s questions. “I don’t know about all that, but this is Galra tech,” he explains proudly, grabbing a few adhesive pads off a metal side table. “Lift your shirt up, Kythel. This machine will detect a heartbeat as well as any movement. I want to document this as much as I can so I’ll be taking some holo-images.”

Keith lifts his shirt up to watch as Tolak presses the clear adhesives to his lower abdomen and across the swell of his stomach. The machine immediately clicks on, a red hologram appearing over the console. Tolak presses a series of buttons before an image of Keith’s womb shows up on the screen.

“Would we be able to get some of those holo-images?” Shiro asks suddenly.

Tolak continues to swipe at the screen. “Yes. If you would like them,” he pauses. “Kythel, have you been having any queasiness?”

“Not recently. I mean… I have been a bit constipated,” he murmurs, blushing with embarrassment. “But that just may be stress related. Oh! And my chest is a little tender.”

“Normal,” Tolak says, making a note on his datapad. “Does anything feel strange? Any discomfort that wouldn’t be there otherwise?”

Keith shakes his head. “You mean besides me being pregnant and me feeling sore almost all the time? Then no.” 

Shiro smirks before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Alright,” Tolak mutters, pressing the dials on the holo-screen. “Deep breaths. You’ll hear your cub’s heartbeat. I want to make sure that it’s normal, too.”

Keith takes a deep breath, just as Tolak ordered. He tries to relax, hand already eagerly reaching out to his stomach but the doctor bats it away. Two ticks later, a dull thumping noise echoes from the machine’s audio speakers. It’s barely there, but it’s dull and throbbing. A sense of life rolling through Keith’s ears that inflames his heart and makes his gut lurch. He feels tense, like a string pulled taut as he listens carefully. The heartbeat is steady but fast, a frenetic rabbit’s foot thumping inside his belly. A fluttering of butterfly wings. Keith looks over at Shiro to see the black paladin’s eyes wet, glistening with tears. 

Tolak swivels the holo-screen in their direction. “And here is the little cub. They’re a bit quiet, not much of a kicker but you should count yourself lucky. If I remember correctly, your mother complained about your flailing limbs.”

Keith’s hand searches out Shiro’s robotic one, grasping tightly to the warm hand. The image is crystal clear, strange when compared to what he’s seen in the movies; when a woman shows a grainy black and white image to their family members. This one is in muted shades of red: showing the softness of his womb, the placenta, and the beansprout of a cub growing inside him. Shiro kisses his hand and Keith takes a shaky breath.

“Alright, alright. Don’t go crying all over my office,” Tolak says abrasively as he shuts off the console, but Keith can see the slight mistiness in the old man’s eyes. “I’ll have the holo-images put on a chip. You can do what you want with them. I’m sure your parental unit will want copies. Just upload them to your datapads and tablets if you wish.” 

Tolak peels the adhesives off Keith’s belly before chucking them in the biohazard bin. Keith tries to gain a sense of his surroundings while Shiro waits for a copy of the images. He presses a hand against his belly, eager to feel a flutter. He’ll wait, even if it takes forever. One day, he’ll hold his cub in his arms. He’ll protect them from their enemies and hope they have a better future.

\--

The day of the hearing is upon them before they realize it. Drak and Iverson are taken out of cryo-sleep, thawing out as medics double and triple check their vitals. They are then escorted to a large amphitheater at the edge of the city. It’s a new building, still in the process of being constructed, that the coalition will use for all subsequent meetings upon Gal. The amphitheater is in an open arena. High-ranking coalition members file into the front rows of the stands while the stage rests in a deep concave space of the theater. 

Drak and Iverson sit, handcuffed to chairs. A purple glowing collar is wrapped around their necks, pulsing, keeping them under control. Especially if Iverson wishes to use his druid magic. However, he is the one who seems more open to the diplomatic hearing than his counterpart.

“Tell us what you know about the expansion?” Shiro asks, arms folded across his chest.

Iverson takes a deep breath, fingers tapping idly at the arm of the chair. “The Expanse was a plan that Zarkon and his council came up with after Gal was colonized by the Galra. Historically, the Galra have always thirsted after expansion – before Voltron’s conception. Yet this Expanse was focused on moving well past the current borders. It’s where the current war is located. Where warlords fight to expand in Zarkon’s name. But many of you Marmora Galra know this already.”

“How does that differ from Haggar’s plans?” asks Kolivan, his hands clenched tightly against his knees. 

“Haggar wants to protect Zarkon at all costs. She wishes to harness unlimited amounts of quintessence and regain control of Voltron to do the bidding of the Empire,” Iverson pauses. “This differs from Lord Solthro’s plans. The Imperial Alteans wish to strengthen from within by creating super soldiers to maintain order and stability. Hence our cloning project that we have indeed stolen from Haggar. Humans have been profiled as an enduring species, capable of taking on this duty.”

“This doesn’t answer my original question,” Kolivan grits out.

“But it has everything to do with what the Expanse is trying to accomplish,” Iverson smiles warmly. Gone is the insidious being from Earth. Perhaps he thinks he can sway them to his side by being a gentle and friendly ally. “If it’s one thing we’ve learned from the humans, it is that once the empire begins to expand, it also begins to lose hold of the roots. Rebellion, insurgency, the rich eat and the poor dissent. And when the oppressed grow hungrier and hungrier, they fight back. Things begin to crumble from within.”

“Are you talking about Zarkon?” Larka asks.

“Emperor Zarkon is indeed beginning to see this but is unwilling to admit he has failed. And as his thirst for power grew and continues to grow, what is left of the Galra squabbles,” Iverson remarks. “Malax had promised that Prince Kythel would be safe on Earth while we diligently worked. However, his adoptive father grew too close to unraveling our secrets and we turned to Lotor as recompense. But even he was truly a child of Zarkon and Honerva with a desire for power and knowledge. And who cares about the consequences, right, Prince Lotor?”

Lotor stiffens between Thace and Larka. Larka raises a hand to calm Lotor before addressing Iverson. 

“Malax is dead,” she says simply. “I killed him.”

“You ungrateful cur!” Drak shouts, breaking her silence. “He gave you his word. Does that mean—?

“Silence, Lieutenant Drak,” Iverson grits out. “Malax had done nothing but rile up the ranks to meet his own ends. He was never loyal to what us Imperial Alteans wanted. He will not be missed.”

“How dare you!” she shouts again, her facial scar wrinkling.

“Take her from the theater. Escort her back to a sleep pod, now,” Allura mutters as two rebels and two Blades unlatch Drak from her seat and prod her out of the amphitheater. 

“I apologize for her behavior,” Iverson says. “She was very close to him. Intimately so.”

“Why did you change directive,” Kolivan inquires, “towards Lotor? And at the same time, kidnap Mick Kogane?”

“Daibazaal needed someone knowledgeable in law and language, someone who was shrewder than her father and mother. Someone who built an opposition party to infiltrate Zarkon’s ranks from within,” Iverson says. “We were hoping that by targeting Lotor and Mick Kogane, we would be able to come to some kind of agreement with the Blade of Marmora. If you negotiate with Solthoro, not only would you gain access to Haggar’s secret projects, but our faction will side with Larka and Team Voltron in this great war.”

“Wait,” Matt pipes up. “The rogue druids want to make super soldiers to strengthen the core of the empire. Our dad is a part of some anti-expansion druid political party?”

“He is the founder,” Iverson smiles. “He only wishes that Alteans – those who have survived this long – have a seat at the table next to whoever controls the Galra Empire.”

“You didn’t have the right to build a military installation on Earth,” Allura grouses. “No one has the right to colonize already occupied worlds by its indigenous people. Not Zarkon and not Sam Holt.”

“There is where our opinions differ, Princess Allura,” Iverson says, bemused. “We need to colonize these worlds in order to combat our own extinction. If our ancestors weren’t living elsewhere at the time of Altea's destruction, you and Lord Coran would be the last full-blooded Alteans alive.”

“How would we gain access to Haggar’s secret projects?” Pidge asks darkly. 

“We all have a mutual contact. Narti,” Iverson explains. “She’s been trained to infiltrate various opponents. Haggar may still be the leader of the druids, but she is compromised by her past. You must let her go or perish with her. She is the most powerful druid in the Galra Empire’s modern history. She was an accomplished alchemist with a tenacity to learn about the unknown. But she is weak because she lacks discipline.”

“What are you saying?” Lotor asks. 

“Take her knowledge, not the witch herself,” Iverson says. “If you take her in, join forces with her druids instead of ours, you will be caring for her for the rest of her life. Hovering over her as she falls ill once more. A sickness that could spread to Prince Kythel’s young child if you allow it to fester. Empress Larka is not stupid. She knows how difficult it was to control your mother in the past.”

There's a sharp inhale from the audience. So he's aware of Haggar's true identity...

“Your flattery will not work here, Iverson. Nor will your false concern for my grandchild’s well-being. Do not assume that I will seek out my father’s throne,” the Galran princess says.

“Larka,” Krolia admonishes from the bench behind her.

“Furthermore,” Larka continues, “you still haven’t answered Pidge’s question. Narti will just hand over Haggar’s intelligence while secretly being loyal to you?”

“She’s loyal to both our factions: the coalition and the Imperial Alteans,” Iverson confirms.

“Why were you working with Ranveig then?” Krolia asks. “If you’re so interested in strengthening the core rather than expanding…”

“We needed use of his bases to move Mick Kogane out of Haggar’s reach if she ever found out about the super soldier program. She would have eventually found out about Kythel and the Blue Lion. We didn’t want to risk the crown prince getting killed by Zarkon’s reach or the Lion being taken,” Iverson explains. “Things changed when Solthro wanted Takashi Shirogane to be picked up for further experimentation. It was the only way we could ignite that protocol without attracting attention from the humans and Haggar. We were not expecting that once again the Blade of Marmora would be involved, nor that they would be the ones to free Shirogane from captivity.”

“Just a routine invasion, right? Nothing to see here,” Hunk comments, irritated by the conversation. 

“You want us to trust you, Iverson,” Lance remarks. “How can that happen if all you’ve been doing is pulling the strings while we’ve scrambled around like puppets for your amusement?”

“Malax was supposed to promise Earth’s safety,” Thace adds. “Are you saying you went back on that promise? You put my son in precarious circumstances and nearly gave Zarkon a complete collection of cosmic lions.” 

“And you’re blaming _us_ for your failure,” Krolia murmurs.

“We did not have a contingency plan once Voltron was prosperous again. If it is any consolation, the formation of the coalition has truly placed us on edge,” Iverson jokes.

“This isn’t amusing in the slightest,” Allura murmurs.

Larka shares a look with Mick who had stayed silent for the hearing, absorbing everything and lining it up with the information he already knew. He nods at her.

“I refuse to lead the Galra Empire as the sole leader,” Larka finally says after taking a deep breath. “You want us to negotiate with Solthro? Fine. But my only request is that I have joint leadership with Allura to not only oversee the Galra Empire, but the Altean Kingdom too.”

“Larka, what?” Allura looks puzzled, not expecting her cousin’s words. Joint leadership? 

“I want her in control of the Imperial Alteans and no one else,” she continues. “Furthermore, your testimony here today has only made me more aggravated and volatile. I know my weaknesses, but all you’ve done is create more doubt until we have a face-to-face meeting with Lord Solthro. You’ve endangered the lives of the paladins, my son, all the coalition members, and even Solthro’s wife.” Larka gestures to Colleen sitting solemnly between her children. 

“Until further notice, your sentencing will be life imprisonment. But know this, Iverson, I don’t feel like we should drain our resources for someone like you,” Larka curls her fists tightly, even while Krolia places a hand on her shoulder to stifle her anger. “I would have executed you if it was just my leadership we were under. Be grateful that Queen Allura extends her kindness in your direction.”


	28. Synthetic Q, Part One

Pidge leans against the kitchen counter, lucidly gazing out the window with her fist propped up on her chin. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought she was on Earth. But there is an unsuspecting purple tinge to the atmosphere from years of Galra quintessence use. And the sun here almost seems farther than the distance of Earth and her glowing star. Even at night, there are two moons: one a craggy purple rock, the other green with a foggy halo of yellow. A devil and an angel sitting in the sky, resting on Gal’s shoulders.

She sighs, rolling her own shoulders before carefully slamming her head against the kitchen counter. 

Her mother comes out of her bedroom, a bag hoisted over her shoulder. “Katie, sweetheart, don’t do that.”

Pidge lets out an exasperated groan. 

“What’s wrong?” Colleen asks. Pidge hears the shuffle of dainty feet and a warm hand on the back of her head, combing through her thick brown locks. “I wish you’d let me help you.”

“It’s not something you can help me with,” Pidge remarks. “It’s my own shit.”

“Language,” Colleen mutters chidingly. 

“It’s my own _stuff_ ,” Pidge corrects.

“Thank you,” Colleen says. “When I get back from Olkarion we’ll spend some time together, relax at the bathing hall. We could do one of those Galra grooming sessions.”

Pidge sighs, “You’re really immersing yourself in the culture.”

Her mother stifles a giggle but her smile smooths out. “I’m serious, Katie. I’m your mother. I know you’re stressed. You need to relax.”

 _How is she taking this so well?_ Pidge thinks. Isn’t she mad? Isn’t she upset with him? Doesn’t she want to be there when they meet him? Pidge lifts her head, shrugging her mother’s hand away and takes a deep breath. 

“When will you be back?” she asks.

“At the end of this movement,” Colleen replies. “If you need to reach me and you can’t get through to my transponder, try Ryner’s. Dorma and I will be staying at her place. Which means, if you aren’t in the field, I want you at Keith and Acxa’s parents’ house.”

 _Since when has it become Keith and Acxa’s parents?_ Pidge narrows her eyes at the flushed tone on her mother’s fair cheeks. 

“You realize we’re moving to the Fortress this week?” Pidge comments.

Colleen’s eyes widen for a moment before a look of realization travels down her face. “I completely forgot.”

“Alright… well… what do you want me to do with our stuff?” Pidge asks, mildly irritated with this flimsy thread of a conversation. She knows everyone is avoiding her, delicately walking on eggshells around her. 

“Call your brother so he can help out,” Colleen orders. “And just make sure all of our personal things are boxed and taken to our wing of the Fortress.” 

“I’m sure Keith’s dads will come help,” Pidge murmurs.

She watches as her mother physically bites her tongue. At that exact second, there is a knocking on the front door. 

“That’s Dorma,” Colleen says as casually as she can. 

“Alright, I’ll see you in a movement,” Pidge mutters. 

Colleen presses a kiss to the crown of Pidge’s head, ruffling her hair in the process. “I love you, sweetheart. Please relax. Spend some time with your friends without working. Please?”

Pidge nods. “Love you too, Mom.”

Colleen must have been expecting Pidge to remark on the latter half of her statement… because the sigh she makes before she leaves is lackadaisical. Pidge hears the opening of the front door, Dorma speaking in hushed tones, and then the door closing once more.

The green paladin leans back on the bar stool, staring out at the sky. _The Fortress._ Everyone is really going all out with rebuilding Gal as some vision of the past, a combination of Altea and Daibazaal. They're also taking these political parties quite seriously. It’s not like she isn’t doing the same. Knowing that so many Galra factions have bred different political ideologies makes Pidge’s body thrum anxiously. Especially with the knowledge that her father is one of those political leaders and wants to join forces with the Blade of Marmora… and the coalition. 

“And Kolivan is just going to go along with the fact,” Pidge says to herself. “As if we can trust any of them. As if I can trust—” She stops her words as a second knock at the front door pulls her from her agitated state. Then the front door opens, and Hunk comes in with a plate of food and the rest of the paladins behind him. 

“Sorry to let ourselves in,” Hunk grins, “but guess what I made!”

Pidge shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Chocolate chip cookies!” Lance squeals. 

“You haven’t explained what chocolate chip cookies are,” Allura says, flinging herself onto the couch beside Lance. 

“They aren’t even chocolate chip cookies,” Shiro says. “It’s imitation space chocolate that Keith managed to dig up.”

"Well, thank you, Keith," Lance salutes.

Bae Bae comes barreling out of Colleen’s room at the sound of more voices. He heads straight for Shiro, rubbing his sides against the black paladin’s legs as Shiro rubs at his fur, scratching away until he reaches Bae Bae’s ears. 

“They’re still good,” Hunk says as he places the plate on the coffee table and unwraps the cellophane from around the edges. He rolls it into a ball before chucking it at Lance. “Try one, Pidge.”

She finally pushes herself up from the bar stool and slowly ambles over to the living room where everyone has gathered and Shiro plays with Bae Bae. 

“Why are you all here?” Pidge asks suddenly, hands in her pants' pockets as she glares down at Hunk who sits cross-legged on the floor. 

Allura pauses in mid-bite. “We wanted to—”

“Everyone’s been avoiding me since the battle with Ranveig,” Pidge admits. “And yeah, maybe I’ve been doing the same. But I didn’t ask for you to come here with imitation chocolate chip space cookies.”

“Look, Pidge—” Lance starts, leaning forward on the couch.

Pidge raises her hand to silence him. “I don’t want to hear it. We all know why we couldn’t form Voltron. Not only was I the one who wasn’t where I was supposed to be, I’m also the one who prevented us from forming Voltron. It was my fault. I couldn’t focus and because of that… our team suffered for it. We lost too many people and if I could get my head on straight… maybe, just maybe… we could have fought—”

“Katie,” Shiro says tersely. She hadn’t even noticed that he had walked across the room, nor that she had hot tears streaming down her face. “It wasn’t your fault. Yes, you should have talked to us about how you were really feeling about the mission. But we’re a team, a family… we didn’t suffer just because you had one off day. You just need to talk to us. We understand this is hard for you, but we’re here for you. We will always be here for you.” Shiro pulls her into a hug and she easily falls into it. Shiro isn’t particularly overemotional with public displays of affection. His warm affection consists of shoulder squeezes and soft smiles… but she takes advantage of this moment. She feels the others embracing her, squeezing tightly as Hunk and Lance bawl like babies and Allura demurely sniffles away.

“I’m sorry,” Pidge whimpers into Shiro’s bicep. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Pidge,” Allura says softly. “We’ve always had our bad days. As a team.”

“Yeah when one of us suffers, all of us suffer,” Lance bemoans.

“T-that is not really a good thing,” Hunk stutters at Lance’s strange way of attempting to make Pidge feel better. “Something like _one for all and all for one_ sounds better.”

“Stop,” Pidge groans through snotty tears. “You’re going to make me puke all over Shiro.”

“Please, don’t.”

The paladins dissolve into a pack of laughter, but when it settles there is a stillness to their aura. 

“It’s just—” Pidge starts then stops abruptly as she tries to grapple with her swimming thoughts. She untangles herself from the paladin embrace. “I-I just don’t know how to think about all of this. Iverson… Iverson just made me so mad. I couldn’t even think at the hearing… and after _he_ escaped. He ran away. He ran away from me.” She pauses, her friends looking at her with sad eyes and it turns her stomach even more. She’s supposed to be the strong one, not a blubbering mess.

 _“It’s okay to cry,”_ Sam Holt had said to her one day when she had scraped her knee playing tag outside with her brother. Would her father still say that now?

Pidge shakes her head and clears her throat. “If he really wants to become our ally, why would he run away?”

“There was a crazy battle going on with the Galra, Pidge,” Hunk says simply. “We were all trying to get out of there alive. The base was about to explode with lava in every direction.”

“But he had been working with Ranveig, right?” Pidge asks. “Iverson says they all had a mutual agreement. Just like Thace, Kolivan, and Malax had a mutual agreement to keep Keith safe while he was on Earth. Why mess that up now?”

“The rogue dru—“ Allura stops. “I mean, the Imperial Alteans have revealed themselves to the rest of the Empire. They want nothing to do with Ranveig now. They want to join us.”

“But—”

“I’m not saying that you trust him as soon as you see him again,” Allura says, “but communication is important. Pidge, he’s still your father and he wants to be _your_ ally.”

Pidge grits her teeth. Would Allura say the same to Lotor and Larka about trusting Zarkon and Honerva? …maybe. Larka would also be the only one who would want her parents to become better people then they are now. But it doesn’t mean they would change for her.

“I think you should talk to Keith about this, too,” Shiro says.

Pidge raises her brows in question. “What?”

“About piloting Green,” Shiro clarifies. “I know that you had trouble when we initially tried to form Voltron. Meditation didn’t work for you in the beginning, but maybe talking to Keith will help since he had problems piloting Black.”

“He had problems because he’s overzealous,” Pidge deadpans.

“That may be correct,” Shiro says tersely, “but so are you.”

The words sting even if it wasn’t his intention. 

“Fine, I’ll go talk to Keith,” Pidge huffs.

“I mean he does have evil family members,” Lance says, mildly bemused. “So, you do have some things in common besides that hotheadedness that you try to hide.”

“Thank you. Lance.”

~~

Pidge and Allura walk into his house as he helps Zethrid and Acxa pile their belongings into boxes. She’s rubbing at her green markings and Keith already knows what this is about. Well, even if Shiro hadn’t called ahead to tell him Pidge was on her way, he would know why the moment she stepped through the door.

She probably hasn’t been noticing, but she recently rubs at her face a lot. Compulsively scrubbing the marks on her skin. A nervous tic that has developed ever since she gained those markings. Keith still wonders what went on between her and her father back at the base, but he hadn’t wanted to pry. But now, he would have to wedge the wound open again, pour rubbing alcohol in before bandaging it up once more.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks, passing a table lamp – that usually sits at Lotor’s bedside – over to Zethrid. 

“You’re expecting me to believe that Shiro didn’t call his house spouse and tell him that he was sending me over with the babysitter,” Pidge states, jerking her thumb in Allura's direction.

Allura stifles a smile behind her hand, but Zethrid lets out raucous laughter just as Acxa pushes her into the bedroom. Thankfully one of them has common sense enough to give Keith and Pidge some privacy. Allura follows Acxa into the room to help with the boxes and floating crates. 

When they are finally alone, Pidge unloads on him. Unloads everything. He hears the desperation in her voice and it almost takes him back to his first moments with the Blades. Desperate for answers, to find out something. Was this how Shiro felt by his side? How Kolivan and Antok felt knowing Larka was at headquarters? Looking in on something that was too private, too raw with emotion. There's a throbbing in his chest at the mere thought of Antok.

He listens sagely, nodding as Pidge flops on the couch beside him. At one point she begins crying and Keith tenses, knowing that what she’s about to say is something that she’s buried deep in her mind. Unwilling to face this biggest part of her problem. 

“I’m angry,” Pidge says. “Not just angry. I’m furious with him! Part of me wants to be at that face-to-face meeting, but there’s another part of me that knows I’m going to deck him in his stupid face.”

“You’re not going to hit your father, Pidge,” Keith chides softly.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

“Well first… I don’t think that’s the proper protocol when dealing with diplomatic summits,” Keith remarks.

Pidge lets out a loud sigh. “I just wish he would have been truthful… like when I was a kid. I guess… I guess I feel like you. Mourning over something I could have had. I k-keep thinking about it, dreaming these awful scenarios that always start out happy,” she stutters.

“One moment, I’m on some new Altea. Or maybe it’s the old Altea. I’ve stared at the holo-images for so long,” she starts. “But it’s me and Dad and Matt and Mom and Bae Bae and then… then there’s just firebombs and plasma cannons. An invasion on top of another invasion. The happiness is like a phantom. I’m not saying my childhood was shitty, but I feel like everything… I feel like everything was—”

“A fake?” Keith supplies. 

Pidge winces in pain, nodding solemnly. 

“You’re angry that you don’t know your Altean heritage?” Keith asks quietly.

Again, Pidge nods. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you still have Coran and Allura and your brother and my mom and even Lotor to help you through it,” Keith says. “If things don’t work out with the Imperial Alteans, you still have people _here_ to help you through it. People who are like you.”

“But that’s not just it,” Pidge mutters, exasperated. “We don’t know if we can trust them. They’ve manipulated us at every turn. Thace. Lotor. My mom. How are we supposed to even work with them when they’ve been the secret bane of the coalition?”

Keith gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “We won’t know until we meet with them.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Pidge asks, eyes narrowing. “There was a time when you mistrusted every group we’ve ever met out here.”

“Things change, Pidge,” Keith states. “We have to adapt if we’re going to survive this war.”

“If there was one person who would agree with me, I thought it would be you,” Pidge says stonily. “Shiro’s calmness is rubbing off on you.”

Keith tilts his head. He never expected that it would come to this. “ _Patience yields focus, Pidge._ Don’t jump the gun on this. You need to look at this situation from all angles. Not just in mathematical equations, like you can solve the answer and know it will be true. Don’t react. Think about the whole situation, not just one facet.”

He watches as her jaw clenches, teeth grinding away. 

“You want to tell me how you got those Altean markings?” Keith asks, tearing the bandage free from Pidge’s tender skin.

She stills, hands reaching up to subconsciously rub at the genetic tattoos. 

“Matt doesn’t have them. Coran thinks it’s a fluke. When you’re a half-breed,” Pidge spits out the word, “you can either develop them or you just don’t get them. Your mom and Lotor don’t have them, and their mom is Altean.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Pidge,” Keith states.

“I talked to him briefly,” she says, wiping her face clean with the back of her hands. Yet the salty tracks smear and make her face dry. “The base had started cracking where I was… before Antok died… before the prison cells started to erupt where you were. He… it was brief, nothing too cataclysmic if that’s what you’re thinking. I shouted out his name, his Altean name. I couldn't deal with calling him dad. But one of his attendants – probably a younger druid just in training, _younger than me_ – went to protect him. The kid probably didn’t know who I was to his great leader.”

She sighs. 

“Anyway, he attacked me. Sent some green plasma beam towards me,” she says. “It’s like the magic your mom is training Allura and I in, except it was almost fake, like synthetic quintessence.”

“What?” Keith’s eyes widen. “Synthetic quintessence? You mean like my mom’s formula?”

Pidge nods. “I reported everything that happened to Kolivan but I don’t know if he told Larka. He isn’t going to do anything yet. I don’t think.”

“They might just want to meet them, see if they stole Mom’s formula somehow,” he thinks aloud.

“Unless we have a traitor that stole it and hand-delivered it to my Dad,” she murmurs.

“Like who? Lotor? Ryou? They’ve proven themselves.”

“I don’t know, but Honerva was able to crash our party.”

Keith mulls over her words and then—

His eyes widen, his mouth running dry. There, right there. With a shaky hand, Keith presses it to his belly, feeling around for that dull throb. A flicker. A beat of—

“What is it?” Pidge asks, eyes wide too. 

“They kicked,” Keith murmured, mouth splitting wide in a toothy smile. “They kicked!” He grabs Pidge’s hand, pressing it to his stomach. It takes a moment for Pidge to find the spot, and another tick before the three others rush out of the bedroom, eager for their chance (with flushed cheeks like they weren't just listening to their conversation through the cracked door!).

“Holy crow, holy crow, holy crow,” Pidge grins. “This is so weird, but so awesome at the same time.”

Allura feels next, crying tears of joy all the way through her turn. Then Acxa and Zethrid fight for spots on the couch, hands searching his belly and almost making him feel like a test subject. When the moment is gone and the cub settles down once more, Keith fixes a worried glance at Pidge. 

“I know you’re nervous about seeing your dad again, but the coalition is making preparations,” Keith says. “We’re going to have to go through with this plan, but we’ll do it together. Just like every time before.”

Pidge nods solemnly, her downcast eyes glistening. 

“How about you come with Acxa and I to the clinic in a varga,” Keith says. “We had plans to help out with the wounded. It will help you regain your focus.”

“I guess,” Pidge shrugs, puerile.

“Pidge…” Allura drones.

“Yes, yes, okay! I’ll go with you and your sister to help out the wounded.”

“She’s not my sister.” 

“He’s not my brother.”

There is a quiet stillness for a moment. 

“Yeah, okay,” Pidge says sarcastically, spectacles glinting in the natural light of the living room. “Keep telling yourselves that.” 

\--

They break up into groups of two. Allura and Zethrid head back to the Castleship to help with packing a few things. If the Castle of Lions is their mobile home, the Fortress will become their weekend abode. And Lance and Matt want to install a new gaming console into one of the large lounges in the Fortress for weekend gaming tournaments. They all still have some packing to do before going to Colleen’s house. 

Keith takes Acxa and Pidge to a makeshift clinic in one of the city's old, abandoned gymnasiums. They are immediately put to work by Tolak’s assistant, a young Galran named Breorg who can’t be any more than ten human years old. He’s young but thorough with his orders, giving them a list of tasks that the other volunteers have yet to complete. 

They spend their time feeding the wounded who can’t sit up or move their arms properly, cleaning out bedpans for those who can’t make it to the communal bathrooms, changing bandages and rubbing healing salves on open sores. Acxa and Pidge even work together to help the patients that require physical therapy. 

It seems that his idea is working and he silently pats himself on the back. Maybe he can do this whole parenting thing with positive reinforcement. As an adolescent, he hadn’t gotten that type of praise since Mick had been kidnapped, but somehow – perhaps through Shiro’s caring hands – Keith has learned to help others in this type of careful way. It’s not so much that Acxa is forgetting her problems with her mother or that Pidge is now less angry with her father because they are caring for the sick. No. It’s letting them reuse their energy, work through their problems with their hands by doing something good. Something that makes them the people who will help change the universe. Supportive and fulfilled.

Keith is proud of them. 

At lunch as they slurp down their cold noodle dishes and slabs of vat meat, Pidge and Acxa see that Ryou is at the shift change. He comes in to empty several bedpans, washes his hands after he strips himself of his gloves, and starts dispensing pain medication and antibiotics. One patient has a serious infection and requires Ryou's extra care.

“I had no idea this is what he’s been doing with his free time,” Pidge comments.

“He comes down here every quintant,” Keith says. “He’s the one who told me and Shiro about volunteering. We’ve been coming down since the aftermath too.”

At one point, Ryou joins them after serving out medication and a healing salve to a different patient with bedsores. “Didn’t know you freaks were going to be here,” he says.

“We all know now that you’re a good person,” Pidge says ominously. “What kind of villain changes bedpans?”

“The kind of villain who would do it for his mother,” Ryou quips dryly. 

Just before the end of their lunch break, Shiro and Zethrid join them in the temporary break room that used gossamer sheets as thin walls. Their next shift starts with Ryou’s. Shiro coos at Keith’s belly, prompting the small cub to kick out at their father. The sweet image of Shiro’s pink-stained cheeks does nothing to prevent Keith from feeling the start of a storm. The calm tranquility before someone springs some bad news in his direction. 

“You need to tell your mom.” Shiro is the one who bashes in the eye of the storm, cracking the tranquil spot and creating a chaotic maelstrom. He couldn’t just sit there quietly and rub Keith’s belly.

The Blade sighs. “I know.”

“Like soon,” Ryou adds, scrubbing at the identical scar on the bridge of his nose. “We’re the only ones who know that Honerva was there.”

“I agree,” Zethrid says lowly. “We shouldn’t keep this from the higher ranks. They’ll know how to deal with it if it happens again.”

“We’ll all go with you,” Acxa says. “We all know so we should all share a part in it.”

“Agreed,” Zethrid says again, pumping her fist. 

Before dinner, he finds most of his family in Colleen’s sparsely furnished house. Most of the moving had already occurred, trinkets and clothing and lab equipment had already been put in boxes and crates. The only thing left is the furniture that came with the domicile and they’ll probably leave that behind for the next tenants. 

When he finally manages to gather his parents and even lasso Kolivan and Ulaz before they can leave for the administrative building, Keith divulges everything that happened at the celebration. He tells them about Rerk the diplomat with his misty opaque eyes, the saliva glistening at the corners of his lips. The strangeness of the titles imposed on Shiro, Pidge, and Acxa. As if he knew more personal things about them then he had let on. Shiro, the black paladin, mate to the heir apparent of the Blade of Marmora faction. The couple expecting their first child. Pidge, the daughter of an opposing faction leader who would soon receive her Altean markings. And Acxa, whose relationship with her mother was tenuous at best but held a strong connection to the Empress Pro Tem of the Blades. 

It had been unspoken, but some primitive part of Keith – a residual trait of the Alteans early ancestors – had spotted those thoughts in Rerk’s eyes. Like he had been spoon-fed knowledge of the past, present, and future. When he explains the goals that he had set out for them, Larka tenses.

“Rerk had been after specific information?” Larka asks.

“It wasn’t Rerk,” Keith murmurs.

Larka raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“It was Honerva.”

There is silence before an outburst of questions. What? How? Why? It circles in his head and he doesn’t really know where to start. 

“I think Honerva was using Rerk as a proxy,” Shiro says, and Keith is grateful for the springboard.

“Rerk was surprised by the discussion of a rogue group of druids working outside Honerva’s jurisdiction,” Keith explains. “That’s when her mask began to crumble. Rerk's eyes changed. They were still cloudy with something like cataracts, but there was a foggy yellow veneer. Like someone was using his eyes to look out from someplace else.”

Larka and Thace share a look. 

“Sounds like the crazy frumplingclang was spying on us,” Krolia murmurs darkly.

“What’s a frumplingclang?” Ryou asks, chuckling.

“A flying furred rodent,” Acxa explains airily. “They enjoy the desert at night. It’s cold there.”

A pained look crosses over Krolia’s face, but she masks it too quickly for Keith to process. 

“Regardless if my mother is a frumplingclang or not,” Larka grits her teeth. “You all knew about this?”

“We didn’t want this information preventing the outcome of the last mission,” Keith remarks. “We couldn’t deal with her, not after Ezor had to come out of the shadows as her personal servant.”

“Not to mention we found out that she has her own political faction waiting in the wings to make the empire more dependent on quintessence,” Pidge asks, without explaining the synthetic quintessence that her father’s people had gotten a hold of. But then she surprises Keith by coming clean too.

“What? How would they have gotten that?” Thace asks, looking over at Larka. 

“I don’t know,” Larka replies. “I don’t think it could have gotten out.”

Kolivan stiffens. “Pidge came to me with this information. I put it in the Record but I still cannot fathom how they managed to get it.”

“It could have been stolen at any time,” Zethrid admits. “While we were at the Deadzone for example. At any time one of Solthro’s druids could have been aboard the space station at the same time you and Kythel were. They could have taken it then.”

“I didn’t even think of that,” Pidge gasps.

“Should we trust them?” Ulaz asks warily. 

“What do you mean?” Kolivan’s question is stilted. 

“It seems that we’ve attracted the attention of both factions of the druids,” Ulaz explains. “And they’re eager to have us pick one of them as an ally.”


	29. Synthetic Q, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, buttercups. We're heading down the end of the road of part seventeen.

Keith thinks about Ulaz’s words all week. 

_“It seems that we’ve attracted the attention of both factions of the druids,”_ he had paused with a shimmering gleam in his yellow eyes. Stress had lined his brow, the days and weeks after losing Antok had impacted them all. It hadn’t dawned on him – nor the others – that they could have lost each other at any time. It was something to dwell on. And then Ulaz had continued, quite morosely: _“And they’re eager to have us pick one of them as an ally.”_

Pidge’s father or Keith’s grandmother. Sam Holt and Empress Honerva had their own agendas, fleeting thoughts wrapped up in shrouds of the fickle and unknown. Iverson had done his best to explain the differences between the two druid factions. Kolivan had gone so far as to bring Keith and Shiro down to Iverson’s cell to drag more answers from him. The druid did not hold back, but he kept explaining what they had previously gathered. 

Honerva’s passion rested with Zarkon. Protecting him was her central motive and nothing else. She provided him with robeasts, suits of durable armor, soldiers, and spies. She gave him everything she was despite her own ambitions at obtaining everything they had lost... since the demises of both Altea and Daibazaal. Unlimited quintessence and the rift. For his sake, she had refocused her attentions on Voltron, a heroic figure she clearly didn’t care about if it weren’t for Zarkon and, her deceased brother, Alfor. 

But within that same vein, Zarkon and the Galra were obsessive when it came to expanding their empire and its reach. The emperor had already ordered Sendak, Ranveig, and many others to claim the farthest planetoids, the darkest satellites, the hottest stars. But Sam Holt – Solthro – was the exact opposite. 

He had stolen Honerva’s clone work and sought out his own soldiers. Ones that were destined to protect the most vulnerable parts of the empire: the center. While Zarkon’s empire grew and grew, his control over the epicenter dwindled. Sure, he controlled the capitol: Central Command. But Sendak had started to grow independent of his emperor. The Blade of Marmora had claimed Gal for the coalition. Krolia had even explained that Ranveig had created his own ecosystem, becoming an emperor over his own subjects. And now Solthro – a corrupted Altean druid – had created his own bastion on Earth that leaked out into the empire’s borders. Getting humans involved, mutating them to become super soldiers. Strengthening the core of Zarkon’s empire once more. 

And now Sam Holt wished to hand it over to Zarkon’s children and grandchildren and great-grandchild. 

Keith scrubs his forehead with the palm of his hand. Was it that difficult to come to terms with this crisis? He had wanted to end the empire’s reign, voiced those thoughts to Red countless times. Yet here he was, falling into the imperial trap. When his mother had no more reason to lead alongside Allura, Keith would take over. And when he grew too tired, he would hand it over to his kit. He scrubs his forehead again, running a dry hand over his face. 

“You could totally help, you know...” Lance says, nudging Keith’s ankle as he passes by.

The Galran prince sits on an armchair in one of the various lounges of the Fortress. Lance is gently guiding one of the floating crates into the room. 

“Not feeling well,” Keith murmurs before hoisting himself out of the chair. He watches as Lance carefully drops the crate to the ground and unlatches the lid. 

Lance’s gaze cuts over to Keith. “Well tell me about it while we unpack the gaming system. Matt was gonna help me, but he’s helping his mom unpack.” 

Keith nods, dutiful and yet missing the worrying glance from his friend. They continue in silence. Untangling wires, wiping down controllers covered in the grime of salty snacks, hastily plugging in the same wires and controllers into the console. Just the way Pidge taught them. 

“What’s bothering you?” Lance finally asks. 

“Exhaustion. Druids. Kicking fetus. A surprise birthday party,” Keith recites. “Do you want the full list?” 

Lance makes a hushing noise, complete with flailing limbs. “Don’t say that so loud. Allura put a lot of effort into this party. If they hear, I’m blaming it on you.” 

“I’ve kept my mouth shut,” Keith raises his hands in mock surrender. 

They’re quiet for a dobosh before Lance speaks again. 

“So the baby is kicking a lot?” he murmurs, trying to make small talk. 

“Right now,” Keith says. “Wanna feel?” 

Lance eyes his belly before dropping the wire that’s supposed to be jacked into the holo-screen’s console deck. He nervously licks his lips, pressing a brown hand to the swell of Keith’s belly. His eyes widen immediately, hand drawing back. “Holy crow! She’s really moving.” 

“She?” 

“Hunk and I placed bets,” Lance says flippantly before pressing his hand back to Keith’s belly. “This is so cool.” 

Keith shakes his head. “Shiro and I are doing this thing neutrally until we know—” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lance rolls his eyes. “You're taking a page out of Pidge's textbook. You and Shiro are going to be awesome, accepting parents. Everyone on this planet knows that.” 

Keith smiles faintly. 

\-- 

They forgo a housewarming party. Instead Allura had planned an elaborate birthday celebration for Shiro, Ryou, and Hunk. The yellow paladin’s birthday had occurred during the ongoing aftermath of the skirmish. He hadn’t complained, hadn’t even voiced that his birthday had been _forgotten_. Although Coran didn’t forget and had told Allura that they should have a collective celebration for the paladins and his Castleship co-pilot. 

It warmed Keith’s heart, knowing that Shiro officially recognized Ryou as his twin brother. No doubt an infuriating one who grated on Shiro’s nerves at the worst of times, but also a brother who had helped protect Keith endlessly and who was now an integral part of Team Voltron and the coalition. 

(But it all comes crashing down soon after. Vargas later when the sun begins to peek over the horizon, Keith will wonder what Larka and Krolia are doing in the prison cells.) 

Keith is on his second slice of cake that Mick had slaved over in the kitchen all afternoon, when Larka gets a distress signal on her wrist device. She eyes it warily for a moment before excusing herself from the room. It only takes ten ticks for her to come scrambling back into the lounge, hastily syncing her wrist device to the holo-screen that plays some sports game that Zethrid, Thace, and Ulaz are watching. 

“Larka—” Thace starts but stops when Ezor’s reddish-orange face shows up on the screen. Zethrid is out of her seat quickly, eyes wide with fear. Ezor looks like she has seen better days. Her features are drawn tight, stressed and wilting. Her jaw and cheekbones are mottled with dark bruises. The strange tentacle that flows from her head is wrapped around the crown of her head like a milkmaid’s braid. The uniform she wears is one of a low-level imperial guards. 

“Ezor?” Zethrid starts. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” 

Ezor casts one long look down the corridor as she uses the vacant communication console. In the background, there are muted yells and shouts coming from somewhere aboard Central Command. She turns back to the screen. “I need an extraction! Now!” Her voice is frantic, too high-pitched even for her. “Things… things are bad. I can’t keep doing this. I’m sorry.” 

Lotor walks up to the screen, stony and yet mildly worried for his companion. “We’ll extract you, Ezor.” He turns to Keith and then Larka. “Get her out of there.” 

“We’ll go,” Pidge says, climbing to her feet from where she had been playing a game of Twister with Allura, Lance, and Hunk. 

“Are you sure?” Kolivan asks. 

“What about Voltron?” Lotor looks on nervously. 

“I’ve got it now,” she smirks. “I can handle it. Let’s just bring Zethrid’s girlfriend home.”

“I’m going with you!” Zethrid shouts. 

“You’re with me then,” Pidge says and the two race out of the room before anyone can say anything. 

“Make sure she stays safe,” Keith murmurs to Shiro. He’s happy for Pidge, but the team needs to stick together. 

Shiro nods solemnly, before kissing Keith on the forehead. He turns to the other paladins tangled on the floor. “Let’s move out. Ezor, send us the coordinates.” 

“I just gave them to Larka,” Ezor says. 

“I’ll send them to Black,” Larka remarks. “Don’t worry.” 

Something happens on the screen. Gunfire. Plasmafire. The sound of weaponry unsheathing in the distance. Ezor tries to say something but the screen blacks out, returning to the sports game. 

Allura, Lance, and Hunk are already out the door before Larka calls out to Shiro. 

“The coordinates,” she says, “I’ve just sent them to the Castle of Lions and Black, but… the rendezvous point. It’s at the Deadzone debris field. Be careful, paladin.” 

Shiro nods. “Coran, Ryou: we may need back up. Follow us.” 

They leave before anyone can say anything else. 

“I want to go with them,” Lotor says aloud. “I _am_ going with them.” 

Larka sighs. “Stay with Coran and Ryou.” 

“I don’t need a—” 

“Stay with Coran and Ryou,” Larka says. “Don’t argue with me on this. Ezor is going to be on the Castleship by the end of the mission. Go.” 

Lotor tosses his sister a dark look before leaving the lounge. 

“Something doesn’t—” Krolia mutters. 

“Don’t say anything,” Larka counters. “I know it doesn’t feel right. Ezor was going to tell us something before the communication link sputtered out. Kolivan, what do you want to do?” 

“We’ll gather in the amphitheater. The retractable roof has been installed. All high-ranking personnel should meet us at the amphitheater in forty-two doboshes,” Kolivan says. “I’ll have the curfew instated for civilians; it’s already late as it is. Colleen, Matt, you will broadcast that message from the communication building. I want it broadcast planet-wide.” He pauses for a moment before fixing his gaze on Acxa and Keith. “The two of you will stay here. Do not leave.” 

Keith lets out a chuff. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes,” Kolivan says. “Like your mother says: _don’t argue with me on this_.” 

Larka rolls her eyes before heading out the door with the rest of Keith’s parental unit, the others close behind. 

It’s when the lounge is awkwardly empty, and the stillness grows too eerie that Keith and Acxa exchange heated looks. 

“You want to follow them?” Keith asks. 

“As long as we don’t get caught.”

~~

“The transmission is most distressing,” Hazar states. “I had trouble watching it myself, but of course my forte is espionage and recruitment.”

“Is that a slight towards me?” Larka asks with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re known to behead people, my love,” Thace replies matter-of-factly.

“So y’all’re sayin’ Sendak beheaded someone on intergalactic television?” Mick questions. 

“He tortured a coalition member underneath Tee-osh’s protection,” Dorma explains. “This coalition member was a civilian whose family works with the science division on Olkarion.”

“Have we gotten in touch with Tee-osh?” Kolivan asks. “The civilian’s family?”

Hazar shakes his head. “All of our communication relays have been tampered with. There is some sort of radio interference.” 

“Something doesn’t feel right about this,” Krolia repeats. “Ezor calls Voltron away. They leave. We’re here. Sendak sends out a new transmission out into the void. And now our communication to the rest of the coalition has been cut.”

“You think Ezor is a part of this somehow?” Larka asks. 

Krolia shakes her head, an eyebrow quirked. “No, I think she was trying to escape before whatever is about to happen ends up happening.”

“She was trying to tell us something, right?” Ulaz asks. “What if I’m wrong… what if Honerva is going to back Sendak for the throne?”

“It’s a possibility and perhaps that was what Ezor was trying to tell us,” Krolia replies. 

“We can’t make all these useless assumptions,” Kolivan says. “We’ll only know once she gets—”

Something beeps on the portable console in front of Dorma, startling everyone. 

“What is it, Dorma?” Larka asks. 

“A proximity alert...” Dorma answers, face tense. 

_But… why?_ Why isn't the encapsulation shield activated? It's their first line of defense.

A deep boom suddenly echoes from above them, far above them in the sky. 

“Something has entered the atmosphere at a high speed,” Dorma says.

“Nothing is scheduled for tonigh—”

The first firebomb strikes the ground, instantly destroying a plot of farmland. All that is left of a herd of koldaks is scales, fur, and green gore. Screaming is the next thing they hear before Krolia and Josta are shoving Larka beneath one of the stands and the others slip behind them. There is a screeching, a howling noise, as another firebomb lands six miles away from the amphitheater sending metal and shrapnel into the night sky.

“We’re under attack!” Someone shouts and Larka wants to let out a haughty comment. She bites her tongue, tasting blood in her mouth as she attempts to climb out from beneath the stands.

“We need to go help—” But Thace is grabbing her, pulling her farther away towards the underground emergency exit. 

The next bomb hits the amphitheater. Thankfully they are all beneath the stadium, racing down the underground tunnel that will lead to the basement of the communication building. It’s a frantic herding and Larka has trouble thinking what to do next. Kythel and Acxa are in the Fortress and hopefully that defense system has activated, but Matt and Colleen were on their way to the communication building after they all had left the Fortress. She hopes that the building is still standing. Whoever is attacking them wouldn’t pinpoint that their communications were tucked inside this building… unless…

“Keep movin’, Larka,” Mick nudges her forward before she can stumble on the slanted floor. 

“We’re almost there,” Kolivan says.

And soon they are there. Kolivan is pushing up the trap door, opening it so they can stream through. The building hasn’t been attacked yet, but it looks to be cleared out of all personnel. 

“Where are Colleen and—” The sound of a pistol charging up echoes off the cold walls, but it quickly cuts out.

“Thank god, it’s you all!” Colleen mutters from one of the stairs leading up to an office room filled with consoles. “Matt’s trying to hack us into someone else’s frequency. Maybe we can patch into whoever is attacking us and—”

Another deep boom and a bomb hits the ground, no doubt lighting everything on fire. There’s more screaming from outside.

Colleen stumbles on the staircase, but Krolia races over to catch her before she loses her footing. 

“You okay?” Krolia asks.

“Fine, but… we’ve lost contact with Voltron, the Castleship, and the Fortress,” Colleen says.

“Are the defenses activated?” Larka asks, concerned. 

Colleen nods. “It was the last planetary communique that hit the ground relay. However, I don't understand why the encapsulation shield isn't working.”

"It's like Altea," Larka murmurs under her breath, so faint but Thace hears her.

“We have to work fast!” Kolivan starts dishing out orders. “Mick and Krolia, go to the Fortress. Make sure Kythel and Acxa are safe. Thace, head to the airbase next door with a squad! Keep whoever is attacking us in the air!” —another bomb hits the ground— “Do not allow them to land! Larka, get to the science building. Activate the cannon. The rest of you: with me!”

~~

The sky is a dark violet color from the clouds of smoke and broiling fires tangled throughout the city. Sweat beads across Keith’s face. The sounds of shrill screams ring in his ears. Several buildings have crumbled beneath the firebombs, including the new amphitheater addition. Keith freezes, Acxa tugging at his upper arm.

“We need to hope they got out,” she murmurs. “We need to get back to the Fortress.”

“We have to help,” Keith remarks. “We need to get to the closest clinic.”

“The one on the south side of the city is flattened.”

A tense ball of heat gathers in Keith’s throat. Guilt. 

“If you don’t want to go back to the Fortress, we need to keep moving,” Acxa urges. “We’ll meet up with everyone at the Fortress later. We’ll have to help our people.”

Keith can’t even come up with a better argument. They run. He’s a bit top heavy now, but he’s still agile and fast. His Galra genes kicking into overdrive as Acxa and him cling to shadowed alleyways. The sky is alight with fire and plasma. A squad of Marmora jets just dispatch from the airbase and he hopes his papa’s squad is ready to take down one of the warships that is dropping too low into the atmosphere. From the center of the city, a large tower begins to emerge from a basin. A pronged head igniting as it charges up. It takes several ticks before it shoots plasma, viridian and synthetic, at the second warship. 

Keith and Acxa help those who can walk and shout for additional medical assistance for those who are too deeply wounded to move on their own. He feels like he’s in a daze, stricken by the bloodshed and shouting and the terrible sensation that perhaps this was a setup. Target the capitol of this new empire.

“Zarkon,” Keith growls, fists clenching at his sides as they enter one of the city squares. 

Out of nowhere, a cruiser lands in the middle of the square, its wings catching on the edges of the domiciles. The outer walls of the homes collapse, and Keith can hear more screaming from within. From beneath the ship, a door opens and a small troop of soldiers drop out. They land on their boots, stone and metal buckling beneath them. The Galra don’t care what happens to civilians caught in the crossfire. This knowledge wraps tight to Keith’s swollen chest, anger radiating from him. His hand reaches for his blade at the small of his back. 

He pauses when the leader of the group, pulls off her helmet and smirks widely. 

“How splendid,” she grunts. “To finally meet Prince Kythel in the flesh. Sendak has told me all about you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Commander Gnov.”

Gnov is a strange looking woman with strange hair wrapped around her head in the form of long and pointed sideburns. Patches of violet mar her eyelids, a stark difference to her lavender skin. Her yellow eyes burn brightly even in the darkness blanketing over the city. Although she looks smug at her discovery, there is a certain amount of stoicism that permeates her aura. She is the type of imperial soldier who would kill children without batting an eye. She wouldn’t care if she killed a pregnant person either. 

“Forgive me, Commander Gnov,” Keith starts, “but how about you get off my planet and leave it alone.” 

“Kythel…” Acxa murmurs by his side. 

The smirk breaks across her face, wider than before. “Apologizes, Your Imperial Highness. But I was sent here by the Emperor, your grandfather. He wants his—”

Before she can finish her superfluous statement, Acxa has already unsheathed her weapon from its thigh holster and is charging at Gnov. The soldier can’t react so fast, too sturdy and less lithe to maneuver herself away as quickly. Acxa strikes, thwacking the sharp edge of her scimitar against the gap in one of Gnov’s pauldrons. Purple-tinged blood spurts around the blade and Gnov collapses, startled by her sudden vulnerability. 

Gnov snarls, grabbing her pistol from her own holster with her good arm. She aims it at Keith despite Acxa’s proximity. His hand tightens on the hilt of his blade, pulling it free from its scabbard before bracing his feet on the ground. Acxa finally notices the pistol in Gnov’s hand, who it’s truly pointed at. She withdraws her blade from the commander, blood and flesh squelching wetly as Gnov lets out a wounded growl. 

Just before Gnov is about to fire, just as he is about to charge towards the soldiers moving towards Acxa, a streak of blue plasma hits the ground beside them. Gravel and stone plumes into the air, striking several soldiers in the face. Gnov gasps, backing up as another soldier grabs her around the waist, hoisting her up into the belly of the cruiser. 

Keith turns, looking up towards the violet, blood-drenched sky as the Castleship shoots another pulse at Gnov’s cruiser. It hits one of the wings, but it still manages to hover in the air, lifting upwards by the engines as it cruises in the opposite direction. Together, Keith and Acxa dispatch the remaining soldiers left behind. He grits his teeth as Acxa grabs his arm, the Castle of Lions carefully landing behind them. 

“Come on, brother,” Acxa murmurs, wind whipping her hair around her face. “Let’s get out of here.”

In the corner of his eye, Keith sees Voltron – fully formed and achingly beautiful – shoving a blade deep into the side of one of the warships. 

Keith smiles.

~~

“Was it a setup?” Larka asks, arms folded across her chest. She grits her teeth. Out of all the times for this to happen. They’re still recovering from what they previously lost. But now they’ve lost two clinics full of the wounded survivors and a handful of coalition members that had been on Gal that evening. Some of the city’s architecture was beyond recognition and it would take a while for the rebuilding to finish. Even longer for the search and rescue teams to recover the bodies. But at least the Fortress and the Tower Cannon did their job: protecting Gal and its people.

Honerva affixes her golden gaze over at Larka, her lavender pupils dilating. The girl looks less weathered since they last saw each other. She looks healthy, less gaunt and strained. Honerva, however, is in the depths of the Castleship’s brig, held in green-glowing handcuffs and a collar. Meant to keep her powers restrained. She wants to smirk at the coalition’s resourcefulness. Taking imperial technology and reverse engineering it to do their bidding. A trickle of pride cascades down her spine. She’s eager to say something else. Apologize. Warn. But nothing comes up her throat.

Larka chuffs angrily. She’s with two of Lotor’s generals – Ezor and Zethrid – and flanked by the leader of the Blade of Marmora and another spy with two-toned dark violet and magenta hair. How loyal are these people to Larka? To Lotor? To Allura? 

Honerva lets out a sigh. She can’t be disingenuous, otherwise her safety would be at risk. 

“It was not,” Honerva says. “I asked Ezor to get us out of Central Command. We needed safe passage to you and we would never have gotten it if we had stayed there a moment longer. They had already been planning to execute you and your brother and the Altean princess. We should have gotten to you sooner.”

“Do you know how many people we’ve lost?” Larka asks. 

“Too many?” 

Larka makes a frustrated noise. 

“Your father is not himself,” Honerva states.

“Tell us something we don’t know,” mutters the female revolutionist at Larka's side. 

Honerva ignores her. “He had grown angrier… angry with me. He has become volatile with my choices and decisions for the Empire. Make no mistake that he is aware of who he is and who I am,” she pauses. “But Sendak and Gnov are poisoning your father’s mind with how they think the Galra Empire should be ruled.”

“Give me a reason to stop my husband from putting you on a ship and sending you back to Zarkon,” Larka murmurs. 

She wants to make a cruel comment. _How is the traitorous boy after my torture?_ But she bites her tongue and breathes deeply. “I admit that Zarkon may have reacted with those orders when he found out I was leaving,” the Altean says. “He must have discovered I was going to find my children.” 

“We had to leave,” Ezor explains to Larka, almost trying to make her understand. “Things… things are rough there. Worse than usual. Everyone is fighting for… Zarkon’s position.”

“You’re the only person truly loyal to Zarkon,” Larka says to Honerva. “This could all be a ploy to learn what we know and go back to him when we turn the other way.”

“I came here before,” Honerva says, licking her lips nervously. “Your son surprised me. He’s sharp, witty. He figured out—”

“Get to the point.”

She’s still the same capricious child. 

“I can’t help your father from the inside anymore,” Honerva remarks. “It surprised me… how many factions had emerged. I should have culled my ranks sooner. These druids – the rogue ones – they’ve stolen my work. I would rather it be in my children’s hands. No one else.”

“Leave us,” Larka says. 

Kolivan’s eyes widen. “Larka, you should—”

“Please, Kolivan,” Larka murmurs.

“No,” the other woman says. “You’re not listening to her any longer.”

“Krolia—”

“Whatever slips from her mouth, it comes from a serpent’s tongue,” Krolia says. “Everything she’s done was for your father, for herself. Not for you. Not for her people. Not for ours. She’s a traitor to every citizen of Daibazaal and Altea. I won’t allow you to speak to her privately.”

Honerva’s eyebrows rise. _She already has her own court of loyalists._

The imperial druid doesn’t call out to them as they leave. She doesn’t miss Larka’s glance back either.


	30. The Princesses’ Gambit

The frosty condensation leaves a thin veneer on the window. Keith watches a patch of melting snow cascade down from the rampart above. He snuggles in close to Shiro’s warmth; the bed, a nest made out of fluffy pillows and layers of blankets. He feels swollen, stretched too tight. His hand lifts, resting on the melon-like swell. _Just a couple more weeks,_ his biological clock ticks away, counting down the quintants. 

It’s been four phoebs since the attack. Four phoebs of rebuilding. Four phoebs had to pass for them to realize that someone had dropped the encapsulation shield from the inside… and the citizens of Gal had yet to figure out who it was.

Keith rolls away, careful of his belly, but Shiro’s Galra arm reaches out to touch it. He pulls Keith back in but says nothing. 

“I need to get up, Takashi,” he groans. Slick and come has dried to his sticky thighs from the night before, while his back had been pressed tightly to Shiro’s chest, when Shiro had breathlessly chanted his name against the shell of his ear. 

Shiro groans but releases Keith from his grip. 

The snow falling outside has lightened, letting the sky glow a muted blue. The sun just barely peeking from beyond the clouds. If he closes his eyes and presses his hand against the glass, he can pretend he is still on Earth and not light years away. His life has changed so drastically that the politics of Gal and the Empire have permanently leaked into everything he does now. He’s no longer a paladin or just Blade; he’s the Empress Pro Tem’s son. The heir to the Galra throne and it fills him with something sour. 

More than a deca-phoeb ago, he was a pilot of the Red Lion and had vowed to take out the Galra Empire. Or was it just to destabilize Zarkon’s ranks? He can’t tell anymore. 

The cub kicks, pressing their small feet against Keith’s bladder. He hisses, rolling out of bed and rushing to the water closet to relieve himself. When he returns to the bedchambers, Shiro has managed to twist himself into the bed sheets, feet tangled against the self-warming blankets. Keith considers waking him up, but Shiro needs his rest. The paladins had just arrived back on Gal after spending half a phoeb on Puig, overseeing some security issues. 

The last couple of months had indeed been arduous. The attack on Gal had left the people scattered. Civilians had died, coalition members mortally wounded, Blades struggling to uplift those who remained on Gal. How could they preach their ideology when they could barely keep civilians safe? Perhaps that was what Zarkon wanted Sendak and Gnov to accomplish. Break the Blades ranks and have the civilians and coalition turn on them. 

However, that wasn’t what happened. If anything, they all banded together even more, creating a tight-knit society that refused to relinquish power to Zarkon or Sendak. The only problem they truly faced as a community was the question as to who dropped the shield and let Sendak and Gnov in to wreak havoc. 

But even with those four phoebs that had passed his family was able to celebrate Pidge’s nineteenth birthday. In which everyone discovered that she was terrible at holding her liquor. Lance and Allura had hatched Keith’s baby shower without a problem. His parents had gifted him with a nursery, fully furnished and next door to the room he shared with Shiro. Mick and Thace had even blown open a portion of the wall to construct a hidden hallway so the soon-to-be parents could see the baby without really leaving the room. 

Everyone was getting along and were developing stronger relationships. Krolia and Acxa had come into a steady friendship. Zethrid and Ezor were sharing a room, as were Allura and Lance. It seemed for the most part that everything was falling into place. And albeit his parents’ relationship was strange, there was a softness about them that he found endearing when he spotted the four of them together. 

Keith sighs, pulling himself from his reverie to grab his clothing and kiss Shiro on the forehead before leaving. He takes the long way to the Fortress’ communal bath hall. It is empty, so he takes his time; he is still slightly uncomfortable with his body despite being nine and half months pregnant. Normal for a Galra’s gestation period. Nevertheless, he enjoys the privacy the sheer curtains, that hung from the ceiling, allowed him.

After dressing and pulling on his fingerless gloves, Keith hurries to the kitchens and reheats a bowl of soup that Hunk left out that morning and eats it in the great hall. His eyes squint warily, noting that the dining hall is also empty. Where is everybody? 

It’s at that moment that his wrist device pings and his mother’s name flashes on the small screen. He answers it with the spoon in his mouth. 

“What is it?” Keith asks.

“Is that anyway to greet your mother, Kythel?” Larka admonishes sarcastically. 

“I’m eating,” he murmurs. 

“Well hurry up and wake up Shiro,” she says, suddenly serious. “Meeting at the amphitheater.”

“Why didn’t you wake us up earlier?”

“Ryou said to let you both sleep in,” she replies shakily before signing off. 

Keith shakes his head around another mouthful of savory soup. The amphitheater was one of the first buildings that was rebuilt in the aftermath. This time with its own defenses and an ion cannon mounted onto the roof. It shook the entire base during testing, but at least it would hold up in another aerial attack. 

He sighs for what feels like the nth time that morning. It’s time to wake Shiro and bundle him up for the day to come, but not before bringing him some breakfast in bed.

\--

“…and she has no claim,” Hazar’s deep, resounding voice fills the glass and metal vestibule leading to the amphitheater. 

“If anything, she may end up siding with Sendak,” Kolivan mutters darkly. “We can’t allow that.”

“They are both foolish,” Lotor adds, “absent of all logic and seeking something they have no claim to.”

“The Galra’s laws and regulations about the line of succession has always allowed anyone to challenge the ruling family. That means Zarkon, Larka, and you,” Thace explains.

“If you think the Galra are going to bend the knee to half-breeds like us,” Larka begins spitefully, “then you’re the one being foolish, brother.”

Lotor chuffs and Keith shares a concerned look with Shiro who idly sips at his tumbler of hot tea with pursed lips. Keith shakes his head at his boyfriend’s calm behavior before placing his hand on the identification panel. _Prince Kythel,_ the security system says softly before the double doors quietly swing open. 

Everyone looks over at the doors. Several high-ranking Blades are in attendance; Colleen, Matt, and Olia are there representing Tee-osh’s rebels; Mick, Acxa, Zethrid, and Ezor sit closest to the Blades while Team Voltron sits in the stands opposite everyone else. 

“You’re late,” Kolivan grouses. 

Shiro takes another sip from his drink before waving his hand. “I had to shovel.”

“Excuses,” Pidge grins. “Everybody in the Fortress heard—”

“Stop! Stop!” Lance shouts. “Please, stop!”

"I mean it's only natural with his hormones—"

"Stop!"

Pidge’s grin devolves into a cackle of giggles that Keith can totally tell has overtaken most of the paladins, Zethrid, Ezor, Ryou, Olia, and Matt. Keith’s eyes dart to Shiro’s face only to see his fair cheeks stained red. They hurriedly break away from each other, Shiro to the paladins and Keith to the Blades. 

“Well now that everyone’s business has been aired out,” Mick comments with his own cheeks flushed with mortification, “maybe we should fill them in on what’s been goin’ on.”

Hazar clears his throat. “Sendak and Gnov, although they had joined forces at the behest of Zarkon… they are now fighting with each other. Their fleets have been seen fighting six quadrants away from Central Command.”

“And where did you get this intel?” Keith asks.

“It was our last piece of information coded by Narti,” Krolia replies. “She’s gone dark.”

“I don’t blame her,” Ezor says softly. “I’m sure it’s only become more difficult to spy. Even though she’s a stealth agent, she doesn’t have camouflage cloaking like me. There’s only so much she can do.”

“Can we do an extraction?” Zethrid asks, holding onto Ezor’s knee and squeezing.

“Impossible at a time like this,” Kolivan admits. “We wouldn’t be able to get close to any territory still controlled by the Galra. Not now.” 

“And I’m assuming the rebels can’t spare any troops for something like that?” Coran asks Olia.

She shakes her head. “No. Tee-osh already has soldiers spread too thin.”

“I wouldn’t ask anyway,” Kolivan says. “She’s done enough as is for us. I can’t ask her for more.”

“What does Zarkon think about this?” Shiro asks. “Sendak and Gnov fighting with one another.”

“All we know is Zarkon is agitated,” Coran comments again. “And not just by those two. He’s been angry ever since Honerva left his side.”

The amphitheater grows eerily quiet and Keith watches as a series of emotions flicker across Larka and Lotor’s faces. Disgust. Anger. Grief. Apathy. Indifference. And then finally, satisfaction. Their expressions alone, show that they are on the same page.

“Like I said before,” Lotor starts. “Sendak and Gnov are foolish and Zarkon is just biding his time until he can get his hands on Voltron. If Larka and I have settled on the top of his hit list, where do you think Honerva sits?” 

“She’s betrayed him. She’s betrayed him and he is angry,” Larka says.

“Can’t we use that against him?” Mick asks.

“Possibly,” Kolivan chuffs, “but she’ll only talk to Larka and…”

“She wants to get out of that cell,” Larka says.

Again, something unsettling stirs in the pit of Keith’s stomach. He still doesn’t understand why Honerva wanted to stay with them? She could have gone anywhere in the universe, but instead she had prodded at their weak points, infiltrated their ranks, and now she was sitting in a prison cell beneath the Fortress waiting for her judgement. Keith had learned after their initial meeting that Honerva claimed she would only talk to Larka, something that naturally filled Lotor with envy. Larka and Lotor had even had an argument about it a few movements ago, which only led to the realization that that the druid may have been trying to put a wedge between the siblings after they had begun to get so close. 

That had angered Lotor further and then he had out right refused to see Honerva when she finally asked for him.

There was something about the witch. In one moment she wanted to be trusted, eager to share intel on the ongoing events of Central Command; the next, she was tight-lipped and arrogant about the information she possessed, unwilling to share classified Galra intel. 

“I don’t want to do that, but as long as we have her in there she’ll become recalcitrant,” Larka. “Whether we all like it or not, Haggar is now Honerva and she will act as such. The mother Lotor and I share was once open to change, but she had a fierce loyalty to our father. We can use that obsessiveness in our favor… before she becomes unruly.”

“We don’t know her true alliances nor her goals,” Krolia murmurs. “You can’t trust everyone even though you really want to, Larka.”

“I know that,” she argues back.

“Then stop thinking she’s your mother,” Krolia hisses. “If you go into her mind, she could tangle you up. She’s better at magic than you. She’s the one who created the druids. She was the strongest alchemist and she has the markings to show for it. _Don’t_ think you can go up against her by flashing a sweet smile.”

“I agree with Krolia,” Lotor says immediately. 

Larka clenches her teeth so hard, her lower jaw juts out.

Despite the arguments with her council, his mother had fallen into this role of empress much easier than he thought. She had hated the idea, part of him felt that she still does. But if it was for their people, she would do it. Because there would be no way they could flourish under Sendak, Gnov, or Ranveig. 

“I’ve heard rumors,” Lotor starts, changing the direction of the conversation before a fight can break out, “about plans for a Kral Zera summit.”

“Rumors?” Krolia asks, raising an eyebrow. Her head whips around to Kolivan. “Brother, did you know this?”

“He reported it to me,” Kolivan said, leaning back in his seat. “There hasn’t been a Kral Zera since Cossack the Terrible.”

Keith looks up at Kolivan. Where did he hear the name Cossack before? Surely in history classes with Ulaz, right?

“I made sure it was sent to the Record,” Lotor adds. “But it also seems that Zarkon wants to put a stop to it.” 

“How did you get this information?” Keith asks curiously. “When did you get it?”

Lotor sighs, as if tired with Keith’s questioning of his loyalty. “Acxa and I spotted Sendak and Gnov battling over a quadrant. We picked up some radio interference, but it was coded. We brought it back to Hazar. Obviously it was from Narti.”

Keith looks over to his sister for confirmation. She only nods.

“No wonder Zarkon’s agitated,” Lance mutters. “He’s got everyone fighting or leaving him.”

“Yeah, what happened to good ol’ Galra loyalty,” Hunk comments. 

“What is driving them all away from him?” Allura asks absentmindedly. 

“Don’t you get it?” Pidge prompts. “Iverson even admitted it during his hearing. With the empire spread so thin, he struggles to maintain control over Central Command where most of his units are. Iverson even said the Imperial Alteans learned from Earthling history.”

“His forces have grown greedy,” Larka admits. “We should have seen that coming? Although it meant biding our time.”

“Well, our time has come now,” Krolia says. “We should bring Lotor, Larka, and Allura to Planet Feyiv. We can reinforce that collective claim. It shows Larka’s alliance with Queen Allura and the Imperial Alteans and that Prince Lotor has taken the position as his sister’s second-in-command.”

“Wait, what?!” 

Keith can’t even tell who said that, everyone is in such a frenzy.

“Are you out of your mind, Krolia?” asks the Blades’ leader. “Every Galra commander and warlord will be there. We don’t even have Imperial Galra support.”

“That’s too soon,” Thace says just as Coran shouts: “Absolutely not.”

From his position – sandwiched between Mick and Acxa – he can see Allura lock eyes with his mother. And then: “We’ll do it,” Allura says. 

The amphitheater is noiseless. 

“Larka,” Thace says, taking a deep breath. “What you and Allura are agreeing to is highly dangerous. Sendak and Gnov will be there. I know you’ve outwitted other assassination plots—” he pauses, looking at Lotor, “—but this is entirely different. These people don’t want to maim you, they want you and Allura dead. Gone. Two members of the highest echelon of the coalition ousted by militant, political zealots. As your husband I can’t—”

“Then we’ll all go together,” Larka says stubbornly. “We all agreed to this. Pushing my name forth as Empress. I had disagreed with your decision in the beginning, but you said you wanted this. All of you said you wanted to do this. Now we have a clear shot to gathering more Imperial support from those who haven’t seen Allura or I in centuries. We should take this gamble.”

Resigned to his wife’s words, Thace turns to Kolivan. 

“Fine,” Kolivan sighs. “But the moment things start to turn south—”

“Don’t worry!” Coran interrupts shrilly. “Ryou and I will blast those commanders to smithereens or my name isn’t Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe. Trust in us, Kolivan.”

Kolivan rubs his temples, no doubt feeling a migraine coming on.

“What about Honerva?” Ezor asks. 

Larka’s eyebrows furrow together. “What about her?”

“She could get in contact with the Archivist,” Ezor says. “He could officially put your name in as a contender. It would make your ascension more genuine, as if you’re following Galra law.”

Larka’s golden eyes brighten. “That’s actually…”

“Pretty genius,” Keith finishes.

“Great thinking, Ezor,” says Pidge, excited and smiling. “It’s almost like we have some plan instead of slapping things together last minute like we usually do.” 

With that out of the way and with the new task of enlisting Honerva’s help, Kolivan brings the meeting to a close by making the announcement of a second Earth mission. Umaala. Regris, and a handful of other rebels would be leaving that night to journey to Earth to help the resistance. Marco and Veronica would be expecting them within a movement since they would be traveling without a wormhole or a Lion. 

Even with that excitement, Keith could see the weariness on the paladins’ faces. Everyone was eager to return to Earth. Just to see home for a moment.

~~

“Put on the cloak and don’t argue with me,” Larka murmurs.

“Is that the way you’d speak to your mother, girl?” 

The words set Larka’s teeth on edge and she grinds her carnassial teeth together.

“It’s snowing outside,” she says tersely. “Bundle up. All I need is for you to get the slipperies and throw my plans for a loop.”

Honerva blanches for a moment before pulling on the fur lined cloak and flipping the hood up to hide her face. 

“Looks like business as usually for you,” Larka mutters under her breath. “Just your aesthetic.”

“What was that?” 

“Nothing,” she answers flippantly.

Larka leads Honerva out of the cell, Hazar waiting patiently on the other side of the door. 

“We moved you in the dead of night a phoeb ago, so you’re beneath the Fortress right now.”

“You moved me while I was sleeping?” Honerva asks, annoyed. “That doesn’t make me want to trust you.”

“I don’t care if you trust me,” Larka admits. “You’ve done enough damage to this fam—” she pauses, “to this universe.”

Honerva narrows her eyes, but follows her daughter nonetheless. The glowing green collar around her neck tingles with synthetic quintessence. It hasn’t come off in months, but they had at least removed the cuffs and she was free to move her arms around. 

Larka leads her to a side elevator and the three of them pile onto the lift. 

“Where are we going?” Honerva asks, voice scratchy from the chill. 

“The roof,” Larka replies. 

“Why?”

“I want to show you something.”

The lift ride is climbed in silence. Finally, the doors slide open and Honerva nearly stumbles. The snow has slowed to a soft drift of fat wet flakes and yet the roof has been shoveled clean. Honerva steps out of the lift, bracing herself. It’s almost a replica. 

A gemstone garden like the one back on Daibazaal. Sapphires, rubies, garnets. Topaz, quartz, emeralds. Jade, opal, onyx. A small cluster of Yalexian pearls that had to be so difficult to obtain. Every shade of pink and yellow rests in front of her. Geodes with purple and dark green crystals sparkle beneath the grayish sky. Even the darkened ramparts are the same. The countless vargas spent watching Voltron go through fighting routines. The one time Zarkon and the other paladins had saved Daibazaal with Voltron, protected the capitol from destruction.

“Thace and I have been working on it since the attack,” Larka says, breaking the silence. “I had trouble remembering the exact types you kept, but… I’m hoping it’s at least similar to what it was like back home.”

Something thorny and wretched slithers through Honerva’s chest. 

_Is this humiliation?_ the witch thinks. _Guilt?_ Or is this something more sinister… a transaction, an exchange for her freedom.

“Mother,” Larka calls out through the fog of Honerva’s gem-gazing. “We need your help.”


	31. Lullabies and Bloodlines

The change in Keith’s life starts like this.

His mother finds him pacing the hallways of the Fortress in the middle of the day. Shirt too tight across his belly, a hand bent back to rub at his lower back. Frustration draws his brows tightly together.

“What’s wrong?” Larka inquires, already knowing. She presses a slender hand on his shoulder, guiding him back towards his quarters.

“You really have to ask that?” Keith retorts. “I’m not feeling well.”

Larka silently walks with him, hand gently squeezing his shoulder, moving up to push his sweaty bangs back. A shuddering ache clenches in his lower abdomen making his teeth gnash instinctively.

“When did this start?”

“Last night?”

“And you didn’t tell Shiro at the very least?” 

“Are you really gonna henpeck me right now?” 

“Count yourself lucky,” Larka retorts, rolling her golden eyes. “I carried you for an extra month. Now, where is Shiro?”

“Went to the gymnasium with Hunk,” Keith answers, tone gentle. “Mama, I don’t think I can do this. Can’t I just put this off or something…”

“ _Put it off?_ Put it off?” Larka repeats with a raised brow. “Kythel, how in the Ancients do you put childbirth off?”

“I dunno,” he groans as they make it to his chambers. “Isn’t there some type of Altean magic that can—”

“Son, that’s not how this works,” Larka chuckles softly, shouldering one of the doors open. “You’ve been prepared by me and Tolak. You can do this.”

When the door shuts behind them, Larka immediately starts nesting. Bunching up the layers of soft blankets, brocade sheets, and satin pillows to make a circular barricade. She fetches more from the closet, piling them higher until Keith wants to throw himself in the middle, but something is keeping him from it. 

“I want to walk,” he says to Larka.

Her gaze flickers to him for a moment while anxiously adding more padding to the nest. 

“Then walk,” Larka remarks. “I’m going to call the sire-to-be. Just… just stay here.” She quickly braids back his short hair, some of the strands falling free to frame his face before finally leaving. 

Keith is left staring at the nest that calls to him. He’s not ready; he just wants to pace a bit more. The cub is still not in a proper position, he can feel it, sense it. Knows it deep in his bones. Besides that dull ache in his feet and the sharp cramping in his womb and the fact that he’s scared out of his mind, Keith is relatively calm. His mother will be back with Shiro and Hunk will probably broadcast his labor like a gaming event with help from Hazar.

Before he realizes the time has passed, Larka returns to the chamber with Shiro hot on her heels. Nervousness creases the paladin’s forehead. He’s still dressed in a thin shirt and a pair of sweatpants. 

“You okay?” Shiro breathes, tugging him into a loose hug.

“Fine,” Keith murmurs back. “Anxious though.”

The black paladin smiles, swiping away the beads of sweat dotting Keith’s forehead. Shiro, himself, smells of sweat from his workout. A heady, salt-infused fragrance the dizzies Keith’s other senses and makes him feel at home. 

“Hunk’s gone to get Tolak and the others,” Larka murmurs from the doorway, yanking on the thick plait she’s haphazardly braided and thrown over her shoulder on her way here. “I’m going to get you some fluids. I want to keep you hydrated.” She casts one wary look at the both of them before leaving again.

“I think she’s anxious too,” Shiro jokes. 

“Probably more than I am,” Keith adds, wincing at the pain lancing through his lower abdomen.

“When did you start feeling this?” Shiro asks. “The contractions, I mean. I know we practiced for this, but—”

“Since last night. When you left this morning, they got worse,” he replies sullenly. “I didn’t think to time them or anything. I thought we could just wing it.”

Shiro blinks before shaking his head with a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

Keith returns the smile, leaning against Shiro’s broad frame. 

“You want to lie down?” Shiro rubs at Keith’s lower back. 

The Galran prince shakes his head before beginning his pacing anew. 

The doors slam open to reveal huffing paladins. 

“D-did we miss it?” Lance heaves, clutching at his knees, exaggerated and flailing for air.

“You’re early,” Keith says flatly. “Too early.”

“Did your water break? You haven’t—”

“He’s just having contractions, Lance,” Pidge says, turning to Keith. “How are you feeling?”

“As good as expected,” he replies.

“Where’s your mom?” Hunk asks. 

“She said something about fluids,” Keith murmurs, lightly annoyed by the thread of questioning. He goes over to the bed, presses his hands to the edge of the mattress and clenches as a small contraction wracks his body. 

“Oh my Ancients,” Allura coos. “Did Larka make you a nest? It’s adorable! Is it how you like it?”

Keith raises a hand, lifting one finger in the air as if to ask for a tick. He gnashes his teeth. Shiro is behind him in the next moment, one hand on his shoulder the other rubbing soothing circles across the expanse of his belly. The door opens again to reveal Acxa flanked by Krolia and Kolivan. 

Kolivan looks frazzled like he just woke up from a nap, his white hair in a high bun atop the crown of his head instead of its usual braid. Krolia rushes over to him. “Where the hell is Larka? She should be here by now,” his stepmom mutters, rushing over to help Shiro guide him into the nest of pillows and blankets.

“Right here, you ass,” Larka quips, reentering the room with a jug of water and an empty glass. “Where’s Thace and Mick? I thought I told you to get them.” 

“Helping Tolak with some equipment,” Kolivan answers, snatching the jug from the tray and pouring the chilled water into the glass. He tenderly hands Keith the cup. Keith holds on to it tightly as he kicks some of the pillows out of the way.

For the next hour his family help him clean up the room, putting away clothing that have been flung on armchairs (Pidge sneaking one of Shiro’s t-shirt’s into Keith’s nest). Soon the room is filled with relatives and friends, trying desperately to be helpful. Colleen, arriving fifteen doboshes after his dads and the doctor, helps the paladins dress the bassinet with baby blankets. Tolak has Keith hooked up to a monitoring machine soon after. _Just for an extra precaution,_ he says but his words don’t do anything to settle Keith’s stomach. If anything, it makes him want to throw up. Bored and awaiting the birth of a new Galra, Zethrid attempts to build the nest into a fortress only to have Ryou knock it down, pillows scattering around the bed. It takes one look from Coran to send them scattering like scolded pups.

He’s well into his fourteenth varga when he feels a wet trickle down the inside of his thigh. It dampens the bed sheet and the pillow he’s curled against. His head perks up, hand reaching for Shiro who lays outside the nest resting against the headboard. 

“I-I think my water just broke,” he whines quietly. 

“Good!” Tolak shouts abrasively. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

“This is going to get disgusting soon, isn’t it?” Lotor mutters.

“I thought you were a man of science,” Pidge says, readjusting her glasses as she watches Tolak get his blade ready. 

“I am, but this far exceeds my interest in medicine,” Lotor grumbles. “I do not want to see Kythel’s undercarriage.”

“Then back up, you beast,” Allura says, narrowing her eyes. 

“Yeah make room for people who want to see his undercarriage,” Lance adds.

Slowly and quietly, everyone turns to Lance in disbelief. 

“For science, you know,” Lance scrambles for his words. 

“Tolak!” Keith says, moving on from Lance’s frenetic hand-waving and Lotor’s teasing. “I want to use my blade to cut the cord. Mama used the same one for me.” Keith smiles at Larka, despite the pain, and sees her eyes well up with tears. If anything, this delivery will be different than his own. Parents won’t be threatened by some druid. His cub will be born with some semblance of peace, surrounded by friends and family and allies.

“Imperials and their sentimentality,” Tolak drawls beneath his breath. “Outrageous in my time.”

Tolak gestures to Thace to retrieve the blade of Keith’s mother. His papa passes it to Mick, who in turn hands it to Shiro. It won’t activate in his grip, but it will at least be useful in cutting the umbilical cord. 

Keith readjusts his position, leaning his weight against the rim of the nest – where Zethrid and Ezor had propped up more pillows – and feels the shift of the child inside him. Keith grimaces, gnashing his teeth together at the sensation. Then there is the sudden urge to push as something unfurls inside him. 

He grabs Shiro’s hand and yanks. “I want you to be there for them, pull them free from me. Please.”

Shiro diligently nods, switching places with Tolak. His eyes widen, one hand settling on Keith’s bent knee. “Are you okay like this?”

“Yeah.” Keith takes a sharp breath, baring down again.

“The baby’s just sliding out of you!” Ryou exclaims over Shiro's shoulder. “Tentacles and all.”

Lotor gags aloud.

“Would the two of you get out of here?!” Allura hisses. “You’re making a wonderful ceremony turn into something wretched.”

“Yeah, get out of here, you pervs,” Pidge laughs. “Let Keith rocket this baby out in peace.”

“Katie!”

Keith rolls his eyes. His family is insufferable yet incorrigible, and still here in the flesh. He can’t ask for more than that as he feels small shoulders slip out, more unfurling, and then Shiro’s gasp of wonder. Something is free, swaddled in Shiro’s big hands. There’s a series of surprised chuffs and gasps and then his mother says: “She’s beautiful.”

\--

Hunk pays Lance two hundred GAC. And Shiro names her Akira. 

\--

The next evening, Keith awakens alongside his (finally!) sleeping daughter. 

“You want to join everyone for dinner?” Shiro asks, curled up on the other side of Akira, one finger rubbing tenderly at her chin.

She has the palest lilac skin and a thick lock of shockingly white hair resting on the crown of her head. Her eyes are gray like her sire’s but shaped like her dam’s. Small, pointy ears give way to her Altean ancestry, and her cherubic cheeks are flushed with newborn blood. They won’t dock her short tail that will only grow more long and graceful with age. It’s covered in the silkiest hair, reminiscent of her grandfather’s genes, needed for living in the highest mountains of Daibazaal. She’s a prefect squalling creature – a mix of Earth, Altea, and Daibazaal. Keith is greedy, eager to hold her close to his warmth forever.

“I need to feed her,” Keith says. 

“Don’t forget that you also need to eat,” Shiro reminds him. 

After getting ready for dinner, Keith swaddles Akira in a sling and the three of them venture down to the great hall where everyone prepares to eat. Even Honerva, who shoots furtive glances at the child, sits at the table as Larka fills her plate.

“How’s the tyke?” Pidge asks. 

“Awake again,” Keith says, revealing his slightly swollen chest so that Akira can latch on and nurse. “Hungry again.”

“You were a hungry baby, too,” Mick laughs, twirling a spoonful of vegetable-based pasta around his fork. “Always screaming for more food.”

Keith blushes with embarrassment. 

“There’s something we need to talk to you about, Kythel,” Thace says during dinner. Everyone is well into their plates of food. “We’re leaving tomorrow for the meeting on Olkarion. It’s important that the Olkari are hosting our meeting with Solthro and—”

“I’m going with you,” Keith remarks. “I’m not staying here just because I—”

“You just gave birth, Keith,” Shiro reminds him. “Maybe you should sit this one out. Just until—”

“Mama, weren’t you on active duty after having me?” Keith asks Larka. 

She bites her lower lip, busying herself with the slice of meat on her plate, like it’s more interesting than this present conversation. “That was a different time.”

“It’s still the same war,” Keith pauses. “I want to be there for Pidge and Matt.”

Pidge smiles. 

“This means a lot to them,” Keith continues. “And Pidge was there for me throughout my journey. I need to be there for hers.”

“If the boy is going, so am I,” Honerva grits out, unemotional. “I want to meet this new faction of druids.”

“This isn’t about you, Mother,” Larka says. “You’re not going.”

\--

Keith and Honerva end up going, much to Larka’s chagrin. 

Just like her dam, Akira makes her first space trip soon after her birth. But for an entirely different reason. Iverson is also packed alongside them, wanting to see his leader again and facilitate some sort of peace agreement with the Imperial Alteans and the coalition. The fact that the Olkari are hosting the summit means that peace is on the table. No one wants a skirmish to break out on the surface of a science base. Not when there are weapons that can defeat the Blades and the Imperial Alteans with one blow. 

Team Voltron and their entourage of Blades arrive that next morning. The light of the sunset on Olkarion paints the sky a creamy orange. Alien-like birds and insects chirp from the depths of the surrounding forests, oblivious to what is about to happen. It’s dangerous but left in the Olkari’s hands everything seems to be running smoothly. Like any other summit taking place on Olkarion, Ryner leads them all to the meeting hall with its high seats and deep dais. The light of the sunset pours in through the tinted windows, illuminating the room in the same creamy orange. 

Pidge anxiously looks out the window as another ship drops out of hyper-space, landing in a separate bay far from the Castleship and the Marmora cruisers.

“You want to hold Akira?” Keith says, standing besides Pidge as the ship hovers off the ground before landing. Ryner had disappeared to great the Imperial Alteans and their lord. 

Pidge shifts her gaze towards Keith’s frame and then to the young Galra cub nestled in her sling. Without a word and grateful for the distraction, Pidge watches as Keith gently plucks a yawning and toothless Akira from her carrier and hands her into Pidge’s awaiting arms. Like with most things, Pidge is a natural and Akira settles tiredly into her aunt’s arms. 

“She’s so tiny,” Pidge says softly.

“She did just hatch,” Keith quips. 

Pidge stifles a laugh, careful not to wake up the dozing cub. “Is this scary for you? As much as it is for me?” 

Keith is about to answer when he realizes she’s talking to Akira. Her only answer is another yawn. 

“They’re coming,” Honerva says, head tilting to the side. 

“Would you stop reaching out like that, witch?” Lotor hisses. 

“Stop,” Larka groans when Honerva fixes her harsh and foreboding gaze to her son. 

Pidge hastily hands Akira back over to Keith before rolling back her shoulders, attempting to look like the brave paladin she really is and not the scared girl threatening to take over. The sliding doors open revealing Ryner and a few other Olkari leading in robed figures. They dress like any other druids, as if they were working with Haggar the whole time. But as they get closer, Honerva curls her upper lip in a silent snarl. Does she recognize any of them? Has she worked with them before? 

Allura elbows her gently. “Enough,” she says quietly. 

Solthro is there. Approaching and approaching so very slowly. Pidge looks from her mother to her father, and then back again. He’s wearing his human skin. Fair complexion, mousy brown hair, gray eyes flickering to warm amber. In that moment, Keith understands why his mother is obsessed with making the best of her dwindling relationship with her mother. In that moment, he believes Pidge truly feels the same way about her father. 

_It’s her dad._ The same one who bandaged her abrasions and helped her with homework. The same one who subtly nudged her towards the sciences and only fueled her thirst for knowledge. Yet as Sam Holt gives a pained expression to Colleen who meets his steely gaze, it’s Larka he addresses.

“Empress,” Sam Holt announces. “I am so very lucky to finally meet you in person. It has been too long since our people have been scattered across the void.” 

“We have Iverson,” Larka says. “He’s on the Castleship. He wishes to speak with you, to be a part of this reunion, but I wanted to meet with you before that.”

“I hope I meet your expectations,” Sam says, bowing at the waist with a fist over his heart and a cheerful smile on his face. His gaze swivels to Allura as he straightens back up. “It is good to see you too, Princess. You look so much like your mother.” 

“Queen,” Larka corrects. “She is the queen of her people since the murder of her parents.”

Sam inclines his head before looking warily at Honerva. “Empress Mother,” he murmurs. The druid is about to bow again, when Larka extends her arm. Sam stops, staring down at the slender, lavender hand.

“Mick tells me that this is how humans greet one another,” Larka explains knowingly. It’s a subtle kick to the druids that they were able to retrieve Mick and bring him home. “When they wish to offer friendship and have a mutual sense of camaraderie.” 

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He wasn’t expecting this from his mother. And by the way everyone is stiffening, no one else thought so either. 

Slowly, Sam slips his hand against Larka’s, traveling up the length of her forearm before clasping. Larka follows suit and together they grip arms, shaking hands soon after. 

“I wish to discuss—”

“We can discuss the after effects of our alliance later – when we’ve retrieved Iverson from the ship – but you will recognize my joint rule with Allura,” she pauses. “Yet I believe it is now more important than ever to learn that family is the most crucial stability one can have.” 

Lord Solthro’s breath hitches in his throat as his gaze travels to his wife and then to his children. Pidge takes one small step towards him, followed by another and another, moving by base instinct and unable to hold back. She’s breezing past Larka and Allura and launching herself into her father’s arms.

“Dad!” she cries out, tense and frail. She’s afraid of the unknown. Is her father friend or foe? 

“Katie,” Holt murmurs into her bushy hair. And then he pulls her in closer, into the familiar embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a relatively shorter chapter than usual and it's probably because I'm focused on the last chapter which... a lot of stuff is about to go down. But since the last chapter is going to be next week and I'll be taking a week-long hiatus before diving into Part 18, if anyone has any requests before heading into that craziness, let me know. :)


	32. Pride

The summit goes as planned. No one throws a grenade into the meeting hall. No one tries to brainwash anyone. The only person that is remotely irritated by the discovery of new allies is Honerva, but that was to be expected. Solthro answers each question that Larka and Allura throw at him. He lets Colleen publicly criticize him, even as his own men and women look on with unease. Perhaps Colleen Holt is the only one who can get away with flinging muddied words at her husband. 

By the time Akira is ready for her next feeding, Holt is sliding an encrypted chip across the table and in the direction of Thace. 

“I’m sure you are all aware of what has been happening within Zarkon’s ranks,” Sam Holt continues. “Many are fighting with one another. Commanders versus commanders, but one thing that my faction has been able to pick up on is that Zarkon has said nothing about recent events. Narti has gone dark on our side and I can only assume it’s the same for you. Which leads me to believe that there has been an insurrection within the walls of Central Command.” 

“An insurrection?” Hunk asks. “What kind of insurrection?”

“A terrible type of insurrection. One that happened when General Ezor seemed to have escaped with Zarkon’s High Priestess. The type of insurrection that could have gotten Zarkon killed without loyal allies by his side.”

Honerva stiffens. “What?” she murmurs dryly. “What are you talking about? Speak plainly.”

“We have reason to suspect that Zarkon is dead.”

The room is silent.

“What do you mean he’s dead?” Shiro asks bluntly, his eyes wide.

“Place the encrypted chip in the console of the holo-screen,” Holt nods to Thace. “We’ve been able to capture imaging of many of the commanders fighting. Their battles only get closer and closer to a dilapidated and buckling Central Command. And with no one there to issue commands, nothing is being fixed.”

Thace stares at the chip before standing to plug it into the console upon the dais’ table. He tabs open the holo-screen and sits back in his seat before pressing the play button on a square remote. Immediately the screen pixelates and clears to see a video recording of Sendak’s ships blasting Gnov’s to smithereens. The video zooms in as the camera catches Gnov’s emergency shuttles being deployed. The video switches to a fleet of unfamiliar ships battling one another. But the sector is familiar, too close to Central Command. 

“The first was of Sendak and Gnov fighting in Sendak’s previously controlled region. These two are Ladnok and Trugg,” Holt explains. “Lovers and wives, they have the same goal: become Empress. Let us just say their dreams have come in between their marriage.”

One of the ships – Trugg’s – skewers an enemy with a projectile, sending the ship catapulting into a neighboring silver moon. Keith recognizes it as being two quadrants away from Central Command. 

“What you are about to witness is the siege of Central Command,” Holt says as the video switches again. One hundred warships fly closer and closer to the center of the Galra Empire. Some of which have already docked at the smaller revolving stations, cutting out power and quintessence to the central base of operations. Several gasps blurt into the air as an ion cannon charges up and slices against the edge of the main station. Debris plumes into space, floating and creating a minefield. “This insurrection was led by Commander Throk and Commander Sniv. I do not know when they will turn on one another, but I can only assume that it will be soon.”

The footage ends, the screen pixelating and then bleeping out with a small chirp.

“I have more,” Holt announces. “Encrypted chips full. My spies are everywhere.”

“Do you know anything about a spy that could be in our ranks now?” Krolia asks. “We had an incident on Gal. Someone dropped our encapsulation shield.”

“No idea,” Holt replies, and Keith actually believes him. “But the moment we gain word, I will let you know.”

“My assignment was to infiltrate Ranveig’s ranks,” Krolia continues. “Why trust him? Especially since Trugg has shown a large interest in what he has out there.”

“I admit that trusting Ranveig was one of the mistakes I made… like trusting Malax…” he trails off. “But he was a good resource in transferring and exchanging volatile quintessence outside Zarkon’s range of vision.”

“What are you trying to do with the quintessence?” Keith blurts out. “Why help Lotor? Why take my mother’s formula?” 

“Clean energy,” Holt says simply. “We all require it. Zarkon’s system is unsustainable as you can tell by the video images on that encrypted chip. Not only did we need to secure a pipeline with Lotor’s resources, but we needed Larka’s synthetic quintessence formula. It is important to not only our goal in obtaining clean energy but in creating our super soldiers with Honerva’s cloning project… however it seems that Ranveig has stolen some of our project for himself.”

“Why not just ask us?” Lance asks darkly. “Why take advantage of us all? Since the very beginning you’ve manipulated all of us.”

Pidge looks at her father expectantly.

“We’re not in the interest of asking. We needed the stability, so we took it. Humanity’s past has been filled with one clan stealing from another. It won’t do well to act holier-than-thou in this moment. Now,” he pauses, “we should talk about the Kral Zera.”

“You wish me to go?” Larka asks. “I've told all of you: I won’t go without my cousin by my side.”

“And so the Empress’ orders will be followed,” Holt says. “ _Queen_ Allura will accompany Empress Larka. But you’ll have to make sure your claim is solid. All you have is the Blades, the coalition, and us Imperial Alteans. Nothing that any of the Galra will take seriously.”

“We have Voltron,” Lotor says quietly, so thoughtful like he’d been in his own world this whole time. “We have Voltron, something that Zarkon had promised them all. And I have allies. Allow me to facilitate this, sister? Allow me to announce your claim.”

\--

The flight back to Gal takes longer than usual, mostly because Coran and Ryou put the ship on autopilot and partly because a large argument takes place in the lounge. Should they believe the Imperial Alteans? Should they even go to the Kral Zera ceremony? The only thing that has been set in stone is that the Imperial Alteans will rally behind Larka and that Lotor wishes to use Voltron and his loyalists as their main vassals. 

It’s archaic yet droll and it twists Keith’s stomach into knots. He ends up leaving the lounge with Akira, heading to Shiro’s room. He must have noticed because no less than five ticks pass before Shiro is striding after him. 

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks. 

“I don’t like this,” Keith says without missing a beat. “We’ve struggled this entire time and now it just feels like we’re about to get everything we wanted. Even Zarkon is gone. Dead. I thought… I thought that—”

Even with Akira between them, Shiro leans in closer, hand scraping through Keith’s loose braid and pulling him closer as if to urge him on.

“Some part of me thought we could have saved him…”

Shiro’s brows furrow, but he remains silent. 

“Say something,” Keith murmurs. 

“I know you’re going to want to come to the Kral Zera,” Shiro says. “I’m not going to stop you. We can leave Akira with Mick. She’ll be safe. We’ll make her a promise that we’ll come back.”

Keith can only hope.

\--

Quintants pass by in a stream of vibrant shades. Yet Planet Feyiv is more barren and decrepit than Keith thought. It’s a relatively small planet with one structure, almost like a pyramid in build. A piece of Galra civilization carved into an ancient, crumbling world. A large ornate staircase leads to a platform with a dimly burning obelisk. From Keith’s history lessons he has learned that it is a sacred land and one of the first planets the Galra conquered after becoming a multiple planet species.

It’s a dark day shrouded by floating war ships and ion cannons, yet the Archivist has made many abide by the timeless law: there will be no warring on Feyiv. Not with ships at least. And as they descend into Feyiv’s lower atmosphere, Keith can see the small dots of Galra milling about. Some are gathered in larger sections, those who have made alliances already. In the far distance, Keith can see Sendak’s current dreadnought – a large warship nearly a quarter of the size of Central Command. A smaller cruiser-class ship descends from its belly and heads towards the outdoor landing bay where all the other cruisers and jets have gathered.

“Are you alright?” Krolia asks by his side.

“Just nervous,” Keith replies, tightly curling his fists. 

“Larka will be fine,” Krolia says. “Nothing will happen to her or Allura for that matter. I won’t let Sendak get close to them.”

Keith grimaces, taking a short look to where Allura stands with Lance. A worn expression has risen across his face as they talk in hushed tones. Lance knows how much this means to them, but Keith wouldn’t doubt that the pilot of the Red Lion would attempt to talk each and every one of them out of this. If he had his say in this, Keith would probably try to talk them out of it too. 

The air aboard the Castleship is thick with tension. After being attacked by Sendak and Gnov, they were about to see them. Keith was going to see Sendak for the first time since his impromptu mission with Lotor. And before that… the soldier had tried to save him and his mother. Enemies to allies to enemies again.

“Holt’s loading up now,” Shiro says at the doorway, looking straight at Keith. “The rest of us will be in the Lions. Waiting.”

Keith doesn’t have to ask Shiro about what he means. Waiting. _Waiting for the Galra to start attacking us._

“What should I do?” Allura asks like they haven’t discussed this plan over and over again since the summit on Olkarion. 

“Zethrid and Ezor will get you back to the Castleship and you head straight for Blue,” Lance answers, hands gripping tight to her shoulders. He kisses her forehead before walking past her.

The next few doboshes are a whirlwind of mutual anxieties. Keith is taken down to the flight pod bay where a ship awaits them. His grandmother, mother, and father are talking quietly as Acxa comes bounding up towards them. She whispers something to Larka and her head snaps up to greet him. 

A small smile forms on her face, but there’s something else there. Doubt. 

They remain in silence for the remainder of the trip to Feyiv. The only thing on his mind is Shiro and Akira. Shiro had been reserved when they had started on this portion of their journey. Focused on maintaining some semblance of peace for the sake of the other paladins. They had left Akira with Mick that morning. If anything happened to them, at least their daughter would have their grandfather. It was unsaid but he knew that Shiro had been thinking the same. However, something else was bothering him and Keith knew it had something to do with Zarkon.

“Whatever happens,” Kolivan says as one of the druids lands the shuttle. “Solthro, you get the line of succession out of here.”

Pidge’s dad – wearing his corrupted Altean face, flushed a washed-out mauve – locks eyes with Kolivan and nods tightly. “I’ll do my best.”

“Don’t do your best,” Kolivan continues. “ _Do it_ or I’ll come back from the dead and kill you myself.”

“You’re not going to die,” Krolia says, smiling thinly. “It would take more than a day on Feyiv to kill you.”

“You’re not helping,” Larka says for the first time, her voice almost croaking and desperately parched. She’s more nervous than Keith initially thought.

“Are you alright?” Keith repeats Krolia’s question, this time aimed at Larka.

She nods before looking down at her hands. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The shuttle doors open and the train exits. Uneasiness percolates in his chest. It aches from something more than just the instinct to have Akira with him. This is different. The planet, even at such a close distance, is just as barren. Only yurts, reminiscent of a time long ago, are set up around the perimeter of what appears to be a field. It’s shadowed by the great pyramid staircase and the bright obelisk. An arena where the Archivist can look down on all of them. 

Keith takes a deep breath. Galra stop what their doing and look down at them too. Yellow gazes following them as they head to the front of the perimeter to get good seats before they all die. Some look back and forth between their entourage and the Castleship in orbit. Perhaps they wonder how long it would take for the pilots and paladins to come to their rescue. 

Thankfully no soldiers attack them. 

“They want to kill us,” Lotor says, sidling up to walk between Keith and Larka. “They’ll do it once they have the chance.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Larka remarks. 

“Alright,” Lotor pauses. “I know you can do this.”

Larka almost trips at his words but Lotor grabs her arm and straightens her up. They keep going.

“Thank you, brother,” Larka says softly. 

Lotor nods. “I’m going to try and gather support. Acxa, Zethrid, Ezor: with me.”

And then their entourage is four people short as the small group disappears into a larger crowd, far from Sendak’s own train of supporters. People immediately greet Lotor and Keith breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Let’s hope that he’s good at what he does,” Krolia murmurs. 

“He’ll be fine,” Honerva hums haughtily. “He’ll get what you need, Larka.” Keith’s mother doesn’t say a word as Honerva keeps up, cloak billowing about her like dark mist. 

Solthro and his druids are already setting up shop near the steps of the pyramid.

“Are you sure you sent in her name, Honerva?” Thace asks, eyes roving over the predators lurking at each encampment. 

“I spoke directly with the Archivist,” the Empress Mother says. “She is a contender. We’ve also brought a flock of half-breeds here. They are wary of that fact alone.”

Keith notices the other contenders, small and large groups gathering around the lower steps of the pyramid. Gnov, staring with open hatred at everyone; a large Galra who can only be Ranveig; Throk next to a tundra-looking Galra named Sniv; Trugg and Ladnok at the same encampment but not looking at one another. There’s the familiar face of Morvok from encrypted chip videos, but Keith cannot imagine him fighting in any arena because of his cowardice. Yet there are also unfamiliar, unassuming faces: a quiet, thoughtful soldier named General Raht and Quartermaster Janka. Finally, Sendak stares openly at Larka, a wide smirk on his face that reveals his large and recently sharpened teeth. 

“Takes a lot of guts to show your face around here, Princess,” Sendak shouts across the wide breadth of field between them.

His mother says nothing, and she doesn’t have to. The raspy tone of the Archivist’s voice booms across the field.

“Enough,” he says without shouting. “With our Emperor missing, it is up to me – the Archivist – to begin the Kral Zera, an ancient and important ceremony of our culture. I’ve gathered the top contenders and their supporters here, to Planet Feyiv, in hopes that there will be no bloodshed. But that is not imprinted on our bones. The Galra have always fought for what is theirs and it shall be expected out of each and every one of you.”

“It is fairly obvious to all of us that Voltron is in orbit,” Lotor’s voice breaks through the few furtive whispers. Slowly everyone turns to watch as a crowd parts around the prince. An older woman stands behind him along with his generals, flanked by at least forty other Galra of various ages and ranks. “Know that anyone who wishes to fight my sister will be fighting against not only my loyalists, but Voltron as well.”

“Perhaps she should be fighting for herself,” Gnov gripes out. She stares at Keith before flicking her yellow gaze over their entourage. Keith curls his hands into tight fists. He knows in that moment that he is Gnov’s target.

“Who swears fealty to Princess Larka?” The Archivist asks. “There has not been a ruler contested by other contenders since Cossack the Terrible, the grandfather to Emperor Zarkon. Who swears fealty to Cossack’s descendant and who opposes?”

“I swear fealty,” croaks the older woman. “I – Dayak, a loyalist of Prince Lotor – swears fealty to Cossack’s great-granddaughter.”

A soft rumbling overtakes the crowd. Dayak… Lotor’s governess during childhood but her ranking within the Empire’s school system is so much more. She is here, at the Kral Zera. Had she been working alongside Lotor for so long? Had they planned this? There might be at least forty behind her now, but Dayak currently controlled the military academy. Any soldier who goes through the academies would be at Larka’s command.

“I – General Raht – swear fealty,” the other soldier says, bending his knee and falling to the ground. “My troops swear fealty.” A few of his attending soldiers fall, crouching with one knee pressed to the dirt.

From across the way, Keith watches as sudden disbelief flickers over Sendak’s face. With Dayak’s followers alone, Larka outranks him in support. He – and all the others – must take her seriously now. If he wishes to wage battle, he’ll lose to her.

Quartermaster Janka doesn’t bow or physical bend a knee, but he does step forward. “Princess Larka,” he says, almost simpering behind his own spinelessness. “You have my ships.”

Keith’s eyes widen. What? That would give them every Galra supply line. The Blades wouldn’t have to scrounge around for energy anymore. 

“Holy Ancients,” Krolia breathes.

Finally, Ladnok takes a step away from her wife, but not before giving her a forlorn look. She walks closer and closer, stops a foot away from their entourage and falls to her knees. She unholsters her gun and with both hands, holds it in her open palms. “I – Commander Ladnok, daughter of Commander Sharv – swear fealty to Princess Larka, daughter of Emperor Zarkon.”

Larka eyes widen. The sound of a gun firing has Kolivan and Krolia pulling both Keith and Larka back. For a tick, he thinks that they are the ones covered in blood. When he looks at Ladnok, he sees a small flesh wound on her shoulder. 

“Traitor!” Trugg screams, gun getting wrestled out of her hand by one of Ladnok’s men. 

But the skirmish starts. People are drawing their weapons. Keith does the same, his blade burning hot in his hand. He lashes out at the first person he sees: one of Sendak’s lieutenants who had been running towards his mother. Keith is still a bit pudgy around the middle so soon after childbirth but he’s more agile from his workouts with Acxa. He runs forward, sliding on the ground. His blade makes contact with the tendon behind the ankle. He thwacks once more, through the enemy’s boot and into flesh and bone and sinew. The lieutenant lets out a scream, anguished and pained. 

Keith pulls his blade free before springing up to slice the lieutenant's neck open. He pivots, thrusting his blade into another assailant. This time it’s one of Gnov’s men. He makes eye contact with her. Her hands clench upon her own weapon but she doesn’t make the first move. The generals and Lotor are immediately at his side, helping him cut his way through. If she won’t take offense, he will. 

A blast from an enemy ship thunders through the sky and lands a mile away from them, sending dry soil scattering into the air. Keith acts on instinct, slicing through anyone who tries to make it through their ranks. He senses his father at his side. 

“Keep driving forward,” Thace orders. “She’s falling back.”

Keith looks up, gazing at Gnov’s blood-stained face. She promised to kill him. Yet here she is scrambling backwards like a frightened doe. Her eyes are wide as she takes on one of Sendak’s soldiers. At Keith’s left, Dayak and Raht and Janka and Ladnok work together, their troops creating a formation together on behalf of _his_ legacy. Even Sam Holt and his druids are cutting down Sendak’s ranks with waves of dewy magic and flashes of quintessence. He swipes his arm across his forehead, blood dripping from his blade before slicing through an oncoming sentry on self-destruct mode. He turns to speak to his mom. His mouth falls agape. Allura, Krolia, and Larka are gone.

“Where did they go?” he asks himself. 

He isn’t given the opportunity to think too hard about answering his own question because there’s a deep loud roar and the sound of a cruiser screeching through the air. Keith looks up towards the pyramid. The glowing obelisk is under heavy plasma fire. Everyone stalls, enemies and allies alike, to watch as the cruiser fires upon the obelisk. The Archivist stares on, gaze narrowed on the ship, but he doesn’t use quintessence to do much of anything.

“He’s allowing it,” Trugg gasps, stopping in her battle with her wounded wife to take several limping steps towards the pyramid. “He’s allowing—” She pauses. “Someone stop him!”

Several soldiers start up the steep stairs, but before Lotor and Acxa can head after them, cackling laughter streams through the previously silent communication link. 

Ryou.

The Castleship fires blue streams of light at the soldiers, cracking the base of the pyramid. The ground shifts and out of the corner of his eye, Keith sees the Lions of Voltron closing in. He must not be the only ones because several Galra begin running, heading to the outdoor landing bay.

The insurgency persists as the cruiser continues firing. A deep resounding snap is heard as the obelisk cracks down the middle, falling apart with a loud thud. Still the Archivist doesn’t move, but Honerva does. The obelisk’s dim burning light, that needs to be relit, won’t go out. The cruiser lands, doors immediately open to reveal Allura, Krolia, and Larka. With the three out of the ship and preparing to fight the Archivist, Honerva stretches out her arm in a thrusting motion. A bright purple flare of quintessence emits from her body and, like a well-aimed javelin, spears the flame and remaining bits of obelisk. It collapses in on itself, dampening and finally extinguishing. 

The battle suddenly stops, everyone’s focus on the obelisk or what’s left of it. The celestial blast had ended it. Trugg is about to make a move for Honerva, but Acxa pulls out her pistol with her free hand and points it at Trugg’s head.

“Make one more move,” Acxa growls. 

The war zone is silent even as the Lions land, tails aimed for Sendak’s ranks. They won’t shoot unless Sendak finally gets out of his lifeless stupor. He’s in shock, eyes roving back in forth between mother and daughter. 

“You both planned this,” he hisses. 

“My mother was your Empress once,” Larka starts, having to shout to be heard. “She hated tradition and religion, choosing to push my father towards science and pragmatism. This obelisk symbolizes the oppression our people caused countless other societies. No longer will I have this legacy prosper. No longer will I have our control diminish the lives of others. If we are to expand out worlds, we must do it by working together.” She pauses to look at Allura. “We’ve worked with the Alteans before, we can do it again.” 

Sendak’s single organic eye is wide with anger. He takes a step towards the pyramid, looking straight at the princess. “Are you mad, Larka? You would destroy our traditions?”

“You are just as much of a lunatic as your Altean mother,” Throk growls, pointing his own blade in Honerva’s direction. “It’s because of her that we lost Daibazaal. You would take this from us, too! Those who would support me would put you and your Blades to death. You and your half-breed spawn!”

“With each imperial leadership change, there has always been differences,” the Archivist drawls. “Normally the line of succession is hereditary with no bans on gender. You have all contested Princess Larka’s leadership and yet I see no other reason but to say she has won this battle. She is backed by Governess Dayak, Lord Solthro, and The Empress Mother, as well as countless others. Sendak, Throk, you are outmatched. How will you concede?”

The skirmish begins anew, but the Blade of Marmora has already won.

~~

Lotor starts, awakening, bed sheets sticking to his sweaty scarred chest. His hands clench around the blankets, twisting them as he tries to remember the silvery-white threads of his dream. Swallowing dryly, Lotor rolls from the comfort of his mattress and leaves his bed chambers. It’s late into the night, the warmth of spring melting the nighttime snow.

He traverses down the corridors of the Fortress until he stops outside one of the lounges. He can hear the gentle coos before he quietly opens the door. A roaring fire thrums from the fireplace and despite its warm hearth, Larka and Keith sit on the floor in front of it, young Akira on her back between them. Keith wipes away some drool that dribbles down her chubby chin as she giggles. Lotor stifles the heartfelt smile that threatens to show on his face. It’s been a while since he has seen a child so young.

A dark thought throbs to the surface. Larka, Keith, Akira. All three of them are here and it would be so simple to snuff them out, but he knows it wouldn’t be that easy. Larka and Keith are like lions waiting to kill anything or anyone that threatens the pride. 

And yet, it isn’t what he wants. Focusing on the new pipeline and the prospects it holds interests him far more than sitting on some dusty throne owned by a man who never cared for his children. Larka is kinder, more practical than he. Lotor dreams of something bigger.

“-otor? Lotor?” Larka calls out. “What’s wrong?”

Lotor swallows again, his mouth dry. “Sister, I believe I had a vision, a dream about a White Lion.”

~~

She traverses down the long dark hallways, against hidden alcoves, through large archways. She reaches the room she’s been secretly coming to for the past few movements, instead of the hidden prison deep within the Fortress. This room is different. Opulent and ornate. Fit for the mother of the recently crowned Empress.

Honerva sits on an armchair, gazing into her own fireplace. Kova purrs sleepily in her lap. The priestess’ gaze lifts, purple pupils dilating with excitement. 

“Narti, what news do you bring?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be doing a little oneshot later this week, but for the most part I'm on hiatus until the fifteenth. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me this far! I appreciate it! <3


End file.
